


In Absentia

by twelvicity (Rii)



Series: Little Bears and Little Hearts [3]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Break Up, In Spite of a Nail, M/M, Separations, Trespasser Spoilers, War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-02
Updated: 2015-11-16
Packaged: 2018-04-24 12:05:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 34,226
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4918927
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rii/pseuds/twelvicity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Exalted Council has ended.  The Archon is dead.  The Qun and the Tevinter Imperium are formally at war.  Halward Pavus comes to Skyhold, himself, offering Dorian safe haven in Tevinter until the conflict ends - but not to Bull, or their horned-qunari daughter.  Dorian refuses to let his family be broken apart, but sometimes Bull has to give him what he needs instead of what he wants.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Mensa Et Thoro

The war came to Dorian in three ways, each means more immediate than the last.

It came first with Adaar, who returned to Skyhold without her arm and without much of anything to say in general.  The Inquisition, it was decided, would come to an end.  What she was going to do from there was a dark and murky unknown, and would remain so until she was recovered enough to leave her bedroom.

Maevaris was the second, with an account of what had actually happened.  She came with the caravan of those who remained loyal to Adaar, Inquisition be damned, and wasted no time in finding Dorian once they returned to Skyhold.

“It was Qunari,” she told him.  “They were using elven mirrors - eluvians, I think - to infiltrate Halamshiral.  It was a preemptive strike, or so they intended, for a full-scale invasion of Thedas.  Adaar was able to prevent them from proceeding fully.”

She didn’t need to say anything more for all the color to drain out of Dorian’s face.  Bull hadn’t yet returned.

Maevaris noticed.  “I’m sure that Bull is fine,” she said.  “He’s a big boy, he can take care of himself.”

“That’s not what I’m worried about,” Dorian said.  “A full-scale invasion…”

“Lady Montilyet received a letter from the Triumvirate not long ago, denouncing the operation as the work of a rogue agent,” Maevaris said.  “But given the scale, who knows if that’s true or not?”

“Exactly…”  Dorian held the side of his head, fingers tangling into the long, unshaven hair tied in a knot in the back.  “And what is Tevinter’s official stance on this, Ambassador?” he managed, with a dark chuckle.

“The Imperium expresses its condolences to the nations of the south, and their misfortune of being the target of the brutal regime of the Qun,” Maevaris said, in a polished, standard manner.  “Nothing more, nothing less.”

“Of course…”

“Nobody’s declared war on anyone yet, Dorian,” Maevaris said.  “Perhaps Lady Adaar has already strangled this problem in its cradle, as it were.”

“And if wishes were horses…”  Dorian exhaled, a calming motion.

“Skyhold is neutral ground.  You and Bull and your girls will be safe here,” Maevaris said.

“It won’t last,” Dorian said.  Maevaris didn’t correct him.

Dorian kept a good face up for Bull when he came home from his latest job, all through dinner and Bull’s account of things.  Once they were alone, however, he held Bull for a very long time.

“Worst-case scenarios.  They call things like this worst-case scenarios, don’t they?” Dorian said.

“No. I can think of far worse things,” Bull said.

This made Dorian laugh, wearily.  “I’m sure you can.”

“No matter what happens, though, I’m going to keep you safe.”

“What, as if I can’t take care of myself?” Dorian said, though he held Bull tighter a moment after.  “The same goes for you, you know.  If anything happens to you because of this - whatever-it-is, I shall be _very_ cross.”

“I’m sure.  I’ve got the girls to look after, too.”

(Dorian was trembling.  It was slight, but enough for Bull to sense.)

“None of this is going to touch them, kadan,” Bull told him, wishing it could be a promise.

Truthfully, Bull’s assignment during the Council was to keep an eye on it, with the Chargers for backup.  The job had come from Divine Victoria herself.  Just a protective presence, diverse enough to be inconspicuous.

If there had been any signs _before_ the first Beresaad was found, Bull had glossed them over, written them off as anxiety, old reflexes rising that needed to be beaten back.  In the wake of it, the signs were everywhere.  At the Council, and at Skyhold.  Something was going on with the elves, and he knew Qunari wet-work too well to dismiss it.

All he could promise was protection.

Less than a fortnight later, the Archon was dead.  An elf had done the deed, presumed to be a slave.  She attacked, not with poison, but a blade of Qunari make, and a defiant hiss of “Anaan esaam Qun,” before she was incinerated.

War was called into being with trumpets and banners, and hostile, formal declarations from both the Magisterium and the Triumvirate.  But this wasn’t the third announcement.

That came with Halward.

He came to Skyhold some weeks later with a minimal retinue, traveling on horseback alone, without the rattle and excess of carriages and drivers.  It had not been an easy journey, clearly; his beard was unkempt and the edges of his cloak were torn.

Josephine received him, making an unsightly dash for the gates as soon as word reached her, and she escorted him to the house Dorian and Bull shared.  Halward didn’t need to tell her that this was an urgent matter at all.

Dorian, however, was a different case.  “Please, Dorian, a moment of your time.  I assure you, I am not here without reason,” he began.

“Certainly not!  One simply doesn’t run all the way from Qarinus to _here_ for nothing, much less…”  His voice died as Halward curled into a coughing fit, wheezing for breath as he recovered.  “Do you need to sit down?”

“I am fine,” Halward said, but he took a seat in the offered armchair and caught his breath.  “All things considered, you probably already know _why_ I’m here…”

“I have an idea, yes,” Dorian said.  His tone had sharpened, but more in seriousness than sarcasm.  “The war.”

“Yes,” Halward said.  “The conflict... spreads by the day.  It’s only a matter of time before the south is drawn in as well.”

Dorian looked over his shoulder at Bull, who watched from the door that connected the parlor to the kitchen.  The kitchen connected to the bedrooms.  The girls would not see this.

“And what was so urgent that you rode all the way here?” Dorian said.  An impossible suggestion of an answer welled in his chest, but he bit down upon it.

“I’m here to take you back to Tevinter.  The inland cities are the safest place you could possibly be, right now.  Ursula can come with us.”

Dorian had been only half-right.  “I take it you aren’t extending this invitation to my ‘companion,’ or ‘the child with the horns,’ however.”

“Dorian, now is not the time-”

“Not the _time?_ ” Dorian said.  “You come all the way here to retrieve me, take me to the safety of the Imperium, and you’re going to get _choosy_ about which parts of my family get to come along?”

“Dorian, this isn’t about your - family,” Halward said.  “This is about keeping you _safe_.”

Dorian absolutely heard him trip over the word, the reality he refused to acknowledge.  “Yes.  And the grandchild that looks passably human, it seems.”

“Dorian, please.”

“I gave my answer to you a year ago,” Dorian said, the anger in his voice simmering and even.  “You take all of us, or none of us.”

“My son,” Halward said, winded desperation in his voice, “ _please_.  The Imperium is at _war_.  I would take - the others, if it meant you would come, but I simply _can’t_.”

“I’m sure you could find the means, if you simply tried,” Dorian said.

“Qunari - _any_ sort of qunari, Tal-Vashoth or otherwise - they won’t be _safe_ in the Imperium, Dorian,” Halward said.  “I can’t just put a sign on these - people and say they’re the exception!”

“Yet, somehow, Ursula doesn’t count?”

“She doesn’t have horns.  She can pass as human.  The rest we can… deal with later,” Halward said.  “Her ears, for example, we could clip them-”

“ _You will do no such thing_.”  Dorian’s voice was on the raw edge of a scream.  “Why would you even suggest - no, no, I shouldn’t wonder.  You’ve _already_ used _blood magic_ on your own son, what’s the harm in _mutilating_ your granddaughter as well, hm?”

“My... granddaughter, yes,” Halward said, quietly.  “I want her to be safe as _well_ , Dorian, safe from those who would kill her in the _street_ if they knew what she was.”

“Then I’ll take my chances here,” Dorian said.

“And die at the hands of a Qunari assassin, is that it?”

“At least they’d spare my children,” Dorian said.  “Even _mages_ have a place under the Qun.”

“Dorian.  Katoh.”

Bull’s interruption was heavy, fine and final.  His previous silence only made it sharper.

An almost instinctual ache gripped Dorian’s stomach, his heart.  “Bull, I…”

“Katoh.  Don’t… ever say anything like that again,” Bull said.  There were tense wrinkles around his mouth, anxious and controlled.  “I will _never_ let your children be Saarebas.”

“Bull, I’m… sorry, I know you wouldn’t…” Dorian said.  “I know you would protect them.”

“But I can’t be there all the time,” Bull said.  “Not for all of you.  You need to go with your father.”

“...what?!”

“Take Ursula, and go with your father to Tevinter.”

“Bull, why would you-!”

“He’s _right_ , Dorian.  It’s the safest place for you both, right now.”  Bull’s voice was calm, almost comforting.

“And what of you and Cora?”

“I can keep her safe.  I can look after her,” Bull said.  “Until this dies down.”

“Yes, and when exactly will _that_ be?”

“When it ends.”  Bull shook his head, slightly, sighing.  “Magister, I have to admit that you couldn’t have come at a better time.  Skyhold won’t be safe for much longer.  Even the Inquisitor is relocating, soon.”

“What…?” Dorian said.  “Bull, since when…?”

“I didn’t want to worry you,” Bull said.  “Not when it was something I could easily protect you and the girls from.  But this will no longer be the case, not with the signs I’ve been seeing.”

“You should still have told me!”

“Magister Pavus, will you be returning to Qarinus or Minrathous?” Bull said.

“Oh - Qarinus, first.  Then Minrathous.  I cannot be long-gone from the Magisterium, not with a new Archon to appoint, and...” Halward said.  He looked about as shocked as Dorian was, though far less angry.

“A week’s journey,” Bull said.  “I can have Dorian and Ursula ready by morning.”

“Bull!  Can you even _hear_ yourself?  I will _not_ go without you!” Dorian said.

“I will not see you hurt, Dorian,” Bull said.  “It won’t be within my power to protect you, soon.”

“And you would let my father break apart our _family_ in exchange for some - middling chance at my _safety_ , is that it?” Dorian’s voice was climbing, tears gathering in his throat.  “You would let him separate our _daughters?_ ”

“Yes,” Bull said.  “I would lay down my _life_ to keep you all safe, if that was what it came to.”

“I am not going to let you get yourself killed for my sake, Bull!”

“I won’t let myself get killed.  I’ll protect Cora.”

“Look at you.  Look at what you sound like.”  There was an edge of uneven, manic laughter in Dorian’s voice.  “Am I some - path, some _ideal_ for you to serve, now?  Like the Qun?”

Bull’s stoic expression cracked, but he only let out a sad smile.  “I want to do this for you, Dorian, because I love you,” he said. “I love you, and I love the girls.  If I were to lose any of you, I might as well be dead.”

Bull rarely, _rarely_ used that word.  Love.  It fell as heavily as Katoh, as Stop.

Dorian took a few, shivering breaths.  “There… must be other ways.  Surely there are other ways.”

“We don’t have any more time for other ways,” Bull said.

“But I - I could take _both_ girls with me, back to Tevinter,” Dorian said.

“No.  Cora needs to stay with me.”

“Then - then follow us, discretely.  From a distance,” Dorian said.  “I can’t have you just - out there, Maker-knows-where, where I can’t _find_ you.”

“I’d need a story.  An excuse.”

“I could write you papers.”

“What kind of papers?” Bull said.  “The only ones that wouldn’t be questioned would be papers of ownership.  Slavery.”

“That’s not what I-”

“Do you want me and Cora to live with you as slaves, Dorian?”

Bull was not trying to mock him, or insult him, or hurt him.  The question was agonizingly genuine.

“No.  No.  No, Bull, never, I…”  Dorian swallowed his breath, trying to brush some gloss of composure on his face, in front of his father.  “There’s no way you can follow us…?” he said, softly.

“I can maybe stay near the border, within boundaries.  But I can’t follow you,” Bull said.

“Of course.  Of course.  But… but you’ll at least tell me where you are, yes?” Dorian said.  “In Orlais or Nevarra or wherever you are.”

“...I think I can manage that,” Bull said.  “Yeah.”

“...if I may intrude,” Halward said, an odd sheepishness in his voice, “we do not need to leave _tomorrow_.  I imagine you - both have affairs that you must put in order.”

“Yeah, good point,” Bull said.  “I got some business I’ll need to wrap up with the Chargers, make sure Krem’s okay to take over for a while.  Shouldn’t take more than a day.”

“And we’ll have to tell the girls,” Dorian said.

“Yeah.  Tomorrow.  Let ‘em rest easy, tonight,” Bull said.

“Will you need lodging for tonight, Father?” Dorian said.  His voice had long-since cleared, and he managed to sound unbothered as he asked this.

“I believe Lady Montilyet has that taken care of,” Halward said.

“Naturally,” Dorian said.  “Well, you mustn’t keep her waiting.”

Halward made a grim attempt at a smile as he stood.  “Dorian… _thank_ you for seeing reason.”

“Desperation is never reasonable,” Dorian said.  “And if I have anything to say about it, this will only be a _temporary_ situation.”

“Of course.  I’ll… leave you to your affairs,” Halward said.  He backed out of the house, and was gone into the courtyard.

Dorian looked at the ceiling, in the silence, blinking back any suggestion of tears.  “What are we going to tell the girls…?”

“I’ll take Cora along with me, tell her she gets to tag along on a job,” Bull said.  “And we’ll keep traveling until it’s safe to come back.”

“That simple an explanation?” Dorian said.

“I’ll take her questions as they come.  Ursula’s the one that will need hard answers.”

Dorian inhaled, exhaled.  “I can’t tell her that she only got to come with me because she looks human.”

“You don’t have to,” Bull said.  He paused, considering a notion.  “She’s been writing to your mother, hasn’t she?  You can tell her that she’s extended an invitation.”

“For, what, a year-long tea party?” Dorian said.

“Etiquette lessons.  Proper lessons for a proper lady.  Like with Vivienne,” Bull said.  “And also dueling.  She’ll want to learn how to duel, and I’m sure they’d be glad to teach her.”

Dorian looked at him with brittle longing, and stepped into a careful, necessary embrace.  “I’m going to miss you terribly, you know,” he said.

“I will too, kadan,” Bull said.

“You’ll let me know where you are, won’t you?”

“As often as I can manage.”

“This won’t last long.  I’m sure of it.” 

(Words circled in Dorian’s mind like vultures: “Merely saying something does not make it true.”)

He held on to Bull for a very long time.

The rest of the evening crawled on in a stilted, hollow sort of way, though not so much that it was noticeable.  Skyhold had been slowly but steadily emptying of its staff and its pilgrims, with only a few of the closest advisors remaining.  The whole business had a distinct air of melancholy to it that got into everything.

They put the girls to bed like they always did, and settled into bed for what would likely be one of their last nights together for a long time.  They spoke surprisingly little, just holding, feeling each other’s presence.

“I’ll go settle things with the Chargers tomorrow,” Bull said, some time in.  “You can start packing.”

“You’ll be back, yes?  To say goodbye.”

“Yes.”

Dorian’s mind whirled with ideas and possibilities, anything to keep the next day from coming, for them to stay together.  There had to be a way.

Sleep took him, somewhere.

Bull rose, in the middle of the night, and in half-waking Dorian could feel his lips against his ear.  “I’ll be right back,” he said.  Dorian turned over and settled semi-comfortably into the temporary emptiness on the bed, and was asleep again not long after.

Dorian woke to an empty bed.  Usually, when Bull woke before him, he could feel the great mass of the man leaving the bed, waking him in turn.  Unusual, but not alarming.

But as he went through the house, plans and lists forming as he looked over all he would need and would not need, he could see no further sign of Bull’s presence.  No overloaded pans of bacon and eggs, or just-in-tune humming, or - _him_.

And then Ursula came into the kitchen, rubbing one of her eyes.  “G’morning, Papa.  You know where Cora is?” she said.  “She’s not in her bed.”

“Cora?  No, I haven’t seen her…” 

Theirs was a small house, where things were easily-found.  A terrible suggestion began to settle upon Dorian.  His heart raced.

“You think Tama would know?” Ursula continued.

“I - I think I should have to find him, first,” Dorian said.  “Do you suppose you could check the garden for me?”

“Okay,” Ursula said.  She was slipping on her clogs as Dorian returned to his room, struggling to keep his breath steady.

It was then that he saw the letter.  It had been on Bull’s side of the bed, not immediately visible.  “Dorian” was written on it in Bull’s careful, almost printing-press hand.

Dorian broke the wax seal with trembling fingers, and he read the message.

_Dorian,_

_I know you too well, and I love you too much to let you suffer false hope.  This is the only way we get through this._

_Your daughter will be safe with me and the boys.  Ursula will be safe with you and your family.  We will survive this._

_I will return to you.  You are my heart, after all.  I cannot live without you._

_Vesta in eternata._

_Your Amatus_

Dorian was breathing like he was running for his life.  He might as well have been.

Bull was gone.  Bull was gone and he had taken Cora with him.

As much as he wanted to scream, to lose all hope and composure, he managed to pull together a coherent string of thoughts.

He had to settle things with the Chargers.  They were either still at Skyhold, and would be able to tell him where Bull was, or they would be gone.  And Bull would be with them.

With that thin thread of calm, he got his breath to steady, to slow, and he put on enough of a robe to count as decent clothing, and he went outside.

“You find Cora yet, Papa?” Ursula asked him, as he passed.

“Soon, soon,” Dorian said.  He was very carefully trying not to run to the Chargers’ house.

The house was empty, all equipment taken, all horses missing. 

“ _Dorian’s going to hate me for this._ ”

Well, almost empty.  Cole was standing by a window, by the entrance.  There was an odd, deep cadence to his voice.

“ _He’ll be glad to hate me.  He should hate me.  He needs to hate me.  He needs the motivation.  Can’t justify going back to that place without it.  He always had a reason, now he has more.  He has to think of his daughters.  I have to think of his daughters.”_   Cole’s head hung low, his shoulders slumped.  “He kept thinking that, as he left.”

Cole’s words, as probably intended, caught and snagged on a word, on a feeling.

“His” daughters.  Not “our.”

(Bull did not often lie to Dorian, preferring silence and omission for keeping his secrets.)

“He is doing this for your sake,” Cole said.  “But… that isn’t helping, is it.”

He loved Dorian, his kadan.  He loved the girls, Dorian’s daughters.

“No, he’s… helping just fine,” Dorian said.  “Just… maybe not for reasons I’m happy with.”

“I can find him, if you want,” Cole said.  “Not to bring him back, but so that you’ll know.  That he’ll know.”

“I trust your judgment, Cole,” Dorian said.

“...Cordula is lonely.  Lost, little things forgotten in the dark.  She’ll miss them.  I will help.”

“...do what you need to, Cole.”

“Yes.”

He was gone.

Bull was gone.

“I think I have solved the mystery!” he announced to Ursula, as he returned.  “Your Tama told me last night that he had some important business with his people early in the morning, and that Cora was to come with him.”

“What?  Why does _Cora_ get to go with Tama on a job?”  Ursula sounded blessedly outraged and jealous.

“You’ll have to ask your Tama when we see him again,” Dorian said.

“S’not _fair_ ,” Ursula said.  “ _I_ wanna go with Tama on a job.”

“No,” Dorian said.  “It isn’t fair.”

Bull hadn’t even said goodbye.

What he’d written at the end of the letter was not a farewell - and it was in bloody _Tevene_ , as if that would win Dorian over.

(It didn’t win Dorian over, no, but it soothed him when he read it again, and again, and again.)

_Vesta in eternata._

Yours, forever.


	2. Mens Rea

On the first night, the Chargers came to rest at an Orlesian settlement at the base of the Frostbacks, large enough for a tavern, but too small for a proper inn.  They set up camp, and slept around a fire built with damp, smoky wood.

The second night, they came to rest in a forest of evergreens, and the air was clean and cold.

The third night, ahead of schedule, they reached the edges of Emprise du Lion, and morale was high as the next day held the possibility of warm, real beds.

The job, Bull had told them, was a favor for Vivienne.  She would be hosting them at one of her estates, providing the details of the job later.  She wanted to be discreet, he said. 

“Chief,” Krem asked, close enough to the fire to consult the map but far enough away so as not to be heard, “what is this really about?”

Bull glanced around, making a big show of it, before leaning in.  “It’s a surprise for Cora,” he whispered.

Cora was sitting uneasily next to Skinner by the fire, her staff balanced against her shoulder.  It was the one Dorian’s father had given her.  “A surprise for her, huh?”

“Yep.  Special lessons with Madame Vivienne,” Bull said.  “Ursula’s getting her own holiday with Dorian back at home.”

“Ah.”  Krem smirked, idly twirling a dagger between his hands.  “Sounds like he could use a holiday, lately.”

“Yeah?”

“I don’t have much love for my homeland, and I still feel pretty bad about what’s going on up north,” Krem said.  “He’s probably feeling worse.”

“Ah.  Yeah.”  Bull let out a single, humorless laugh.  “You know I have a horse in this race, too.”

“About as much as I do, Chief,” Krem said.  “Well, hope it’s a good holiday for him.  You should treat him to something when you get back, though.  Been gone a lot, lately.  He probably misses you.”

“Yeah,” Bull said.  “I know.  I’ll think of something.”

There was a slump in his shoulders that Krem read, correctly, as guilt.

Cora’s apprehension melted only slightly when they arrived at Vivienne’s estate two days later.  The Grand Enchanter herself came down to the foyer to greet them.

“My dear Iron Bull, how _wonderful_ to see you,” she said, her arms open in welcome, but not for an embrace.

“The pleasure’s all mine, ma’am,” Bull said.  He bowed, slightly.

“And Cordula?” Vivienne continued.

“It is good to see you, Madame Vivienne…” Cora said, curtseying meekly.  “I hope you are in good health.”

“Of course I am, my dear,” Vivienne said.  “I’ve been looking forward _very_ much to your coming to see me.”

“You were…?”

“I wrote to your father specifically, asking for you,” Vivienne said.  She set her hand by her mouth, thoughtfully.  “Did you not _tell_ her?”

“You got me, ma’am,” Bull said.  “I’m not the best at surprises.”

“No matter.  You’re here, now,” Vivienne said.  She smiled warmly at Cora.  “We have some _work_ to do, my dear.”

“Oh, all right…” Cora glanced uneasily up at her Tama, for permission, acknowledgment, and Bull nodded.

Miraculously, almost everyone got their own rooms at Vivienne’s estate, though willing shares were eked out shortly afterward.  Dalish and Skinner insisted on sharing a room - Dalish, maybe a bit too eagerly, suggesting that elves needed to stay together, don’t you know. 

Cora reluctantly laid her things out in the grand, moss-colored bedroom that Vivienne had prepared for her, and she asked more than a few times if her Tama would have the room next door.  Bull assured her that this would be the case.

Cora managed by herself in the room, after dinner, while Vivienne and Bull took a walk through her gardens, carrying a conversation quietly between them.  Bull checked in on her when they were finished.

“Hey.”  He knocked on the door as he came in, stooping so that his horns didn’t bump into anything.  “Pretty fancy place, huh?”

“Yeah,” Cora replied.  She was sitting on the bed with a book on her lap.  It was open to a page of sumptuous illustration.

Bull sat down beside her.  “What you got, there?”

“Chant of Light.  I found it in the bookshelf, there,” Cora said, pointing.

“Studying up, are we?”

“No, I was… just lookin’ at the pictures, Tama,” Cora said.  “They’re really pretty, in this one.”

“Yeah, they are.”  Vivienne had excellent taste, after all.  “You’re going to have some lessons with Madame Vivienne tomorrow.”

“Ah,” Cora said.  “What kinds of lessons…?”

“Some magic, some other things,” Bull said.  “She’ll tell you everything tomorrow.”

“Okay…”  Cora’s face was still pinched, troubled and uncertain.

“Something on your mind, imekadan?” Bull said.

“Why did we have to come all the way to Madame Vivienne’s house instead of her visiting like she always does?” she said.  “If she just wants to give me lessons…”

“Madame Vivienne is a very important, very busy lady,” Bull said, without hesitation.  “She has other business she needs to do here in between working with you.”

“Oh.  Okay.”  Her mind clearly wasn’t eased.  “How long are we going to be here?”

“That’s up to Madame Vivienne,” Bull said.  “A few days, at least.  Why, you got somewhere to be?”

“I just… miss Papa and Ursula…” Cora said.  Her posture tensed, her head drooping.

“We’ll be back to see them before you know it, imekadan,” Bull said.  “You just take it easy, here.  Learn all you can.”

“Okay, Tama…”

Bull put his hand on her head and stroked the ink-black hair between her horns with his thumb.  “I miss Papa and Ursula too,” he said.  “And I’m sure they miss us, as well.  Papa’s going to be keeping Ursula busy with lessons of her _own,_ you know.  They’ll be just as busy as you.”

“Really?”

“Oh, yes.  And you’ll be able to show them everything you learned when we see them again, hm?” Bull said.  “I’m sure Ursula will have learned all _sorts_ of ways to blow things up that she’ll want to show you.”

Cora laughed, a little.  She relaxed.  “Won’t Papa get angry?”

“What, Papa?  He’ll only get angry if she doesn’t blow things up _just_ so,” Bull said.  “You know how he is.”

“Yeah.”

Bull got off the bed.  “You want any help getting ready for bed, then?  It’s late.”

“I can manage, Tama.  Thank you.”

“All right.  Come get me if you need me.  You know where I am.”

“Okay, Tama.”

And Cora was left to her own devices, her thoughts and whatever she found in her room, and Bull kept worry well-out of his mind as he prepared for sleep.

He woke in the middle of the night, out of the dreamless dark, to a little mass burrowing under his arm.  He felt soft hair, blunt little horns.

“Cora?” he said, sitting up.  “What’s the matter?”

She remained huddled into herself for a few moments more, tangled in silence.  “I don’t like this house,” she said.  “It’s too quiet.  I can’t sleep.”

“There, there, I gotcha.  C’mere, I’ll make a spot for you.”  Bull adjusted the pillows behind him, shifting to one side of the bed to make room for Cora’s body.  She was so small compared to him.

(Compared to Dorian.)

“Just listen to me breathing, imekadan,” he said.  “I’ll be right here.”

Cora settled uneasily into the hollow under his arm, the pillow he set down for her.

“I’m here.  You aren’t alone,” Bull told her, words he remembered from his own tamassran, words that calmed him on nights of strange shadows and sounds. 

He kept his arm out, a defined border for her body, listening and feeling her body sink into sleep again.  When she did not stir, he allowed himself back into his own sleep, satisfied that the job was done.

Cora looked and sounded rested, in the morning, which eased his mind a fair amount.  Though he offered to help, she was able to dress herself and met with Vivienne in the dining room for breakfast, and whatever lessons lay beyond.

The Chargers looked for ways to keep themselves busy as the days proceeded, preferably things that kept them out of Vivienne’s way and the way of any of her meetings.  Skinner managed to get permission  - of a kind - from the kitchens to bring back game for dinner, which provided a great many hours of distraction and far too much venison than was ever called for.

Bull took walks.  He cleaned his weapons a few more times than necessary.

And Krem’s curiosity, threatening to turn to suspicion, got the better of him.  “Chief, you mind if I ask you something?”

“Sure, go ahead.”  Bull kept his eyes on the greatsword he was polishing, the pale pink metal dulled from the wax he was using.

“Why are we really here?  And I mean _all_ of us,” Krem said.  “If this was just a thing for Cora, you could have just brought her yourself.”

“What, traveling all by myself?  In times like these?” Bull said.  “Dorian would have a _fit_.  Wouldn’t stop worrying about me.”

Krem had his arms crossed, thoroughly unconvinced.  “If that was the case, you could have just gone out with a caravan,” he said.  “And there’s no reason for us to stay here.  What’s going on?”

Bull sighed.  “We need to be together and ready for when the next job comes in,” he said.  “Can’t be wasting any time wrangling everyone.  We can leave right from here.”

“Is Vivienne bringing Cora back to Skyhold, then?”

“No.  She’s coming with us.”

Krem fought against the conclusion he was making, his face creasing with worry and outrage.  “But we’re taking her back to Skyhold eventually.”

“When the war’s over.  And it might not be Skyhold.  Depends on how things end in Tevinter.”

“So you and Dorian just... separated?” Krem said, softly.

“We agreed to it, yeah.  I took Cora to safety as soon as we decided on it,” Bull said.  “Wrote a few letters, called in a few favors, so it wouldn’t look suspicious.”

“Wait, wait, wait.”  Dates and events struggled to align in Krem’s thoughts.  “When did you decide on this?”

“When Dorian’s father came to Skyhold.  He wanted to take Dorian and Ursula back to Tevinter.  I offered to do the same for Cora, just elsewhere,” Bull said.  He had returned to polishing the sword with slow, careful movements.  “We all agreed that we couldn’t waste time.”

“We… left for this job the day after the Magister arrived.  Early,” Krem said.  “Shit, Chief.”

“Dorian needed the time to get his things together, so I got Cora out of there as soon as I could,” Bull said.  “Not much time for goodbyes, but Dorian will understand.”

Something settled and stiffened in Krem’s chest, and it settled on his face as well.  “He knows where we are, right?”

“He will, once the coast is clear.”

“...you mean he doesn’t know where we are now?”

“Not at the moment.  He’s got other things to worry about, Krem,” Bull said.  He sounded frustratingly unbothered.

“Really?”  Krem was _not_ unbothered.  “Chief, pardon my saying this, but - what the _fuck_ are you thinking?”

“How do you mean, Krem?”  Bull kept to his task, to his sword.

“Put yourself in Dorian’s position for a moment.  We left _early_ \- did you even say goodbye to him?  And you didn’t tell him where you were _going_ , where you were taking your _kid_.  You practically kidnapped Cora.”

“I didn’t kidnap Cora, Krem.  Dorian knew I was leaving.”

“But not where you were going.  And - shit, what does _Cora_ know?”

“All she needs to know is that we’re traveling away from Dorian and that I’m keeping her safe,” Bull said.  “She doesn’t need all that other stuff.”

“ _Honestly,_ Chief?” Krem said.  “Months, maybe years from now, if we’re still doing this, that’s all you’ll tell her?”

“It’s all she needs to know.”

Krem curled his hands over his face in frustration, groaning.  “Chief, what are you _doing…?_ ” he said.

“Keeping Dorian’s daughter safe with the resources I have available to me.”  His voice sounded distant, almost mechanical.  He was still absently cleaning his sword.

“Because of that - _stupid_ war?”

“Dorian and Ursula will be safe in Tevinter.  I have to ensure that same level of protection to Cora.”

Krem groaned.  “There are so many other ways you could have done this!”

“This was the best way.”

“How, in _any_ way, was separating your kids and fucking off without another word the _best_ way?” Krem said.

Bull finally looked up at him.

Krem found that he recognized the expression.  Ten years of distance had done nothing to dull the memory of Bull’s heavy sadness in the wake of the dreadnaught, of the shattered alliance with the Qun.

“Skyhold is no longer safe.  Spies I can’t trace - elves, Qunari - were almost everywhere I looked.  I needed to get as far away with as reasonable an excuse as I could manage.  A job for the Chargers would not be suspicious, even if I brought Cora with me.”  There was an even, almost rehearsed quality to his voice.  “And Dorian _needs_ to be in Tevinter.  I couldn’t give him time to second-guess and put himself in danger.”

“ _Needs_ to be in Tevinter, does he?” Krem said.  There was a knot in his throat, angry and thick.

“Wars can’t end without the guys in charge making speeches about them,” Bull said.  “If Dorian’s there, doing that, I can actually see an end to this thing.  Even better if he’s angry.  Dorian can get a lot done, when he’s angry.”

Krem reached for words, but a sigh came out instead.

“He’ll know where we are, Krem,” Bull said.  “I got a little bird who can tell me when he’s settled.  Can’t send a message unless I can be sure he’ll receive it.”

“You had _better_ send him a message,” Krem finally managed.  “Or I’ll write him myself.  ‘Dear Magister Pavus: your husband is an idiot.’”

“No argument here,” Bull said.  “I got something better in mind, though.”

“And you aren’t going to tell me what it is, are you.”

“Nope.”  Bull smiled, just a little, returning to his sword.  “You’ll just have to sit and suffer like the rest of us.”

Krem sighed again.  “‘Dear Magister Pavus: your husband is an idiot _and_ a sadist.’”

“He’ll just agree with you, you know.”

“I know.”

Like so many of their arguments, they left it unfinished, but silently complete.

Krem went off in search of a servant, or whomever else might be able to direct him toward a bolt of fabric.  He wanted to make something for Cora.

Bull cleaned his weapons until he ran out of blades, or patience, or some other measure of distraction.  Quietly, and politely, he asked a butler to inform Vivienne that he had gone for a walk into town, and would be back soon.

And Bull, indeed, walked into town, and he entered the small wood-and-gilt chantry there.

It would be some time before the bells for the evening Chant, and the sanctuary was empty.  The air was heavy with the incense-smell of votive candles.

Bull sat in one of the pews, and he bowed his head.  If anyone came in, he would look like he was praying - though he honestly doubted anyone would, especially anyone looking for him.  There were inns and taverns and cafes to search, after all.  Nobody would look for a godless qunari in a house of worship.

He took off his eyepatch.  The socket burned with tears.

He let himself cry.  His breath was even, controlled, until it was not, until he was sobbing.

He’d been holding it together.  Keeping it separate.  A job.  A duty.  Things he had done for years.

And then Krem had - he’d pulled it all out, made it tender and vulnerable, like a wolf with the guts of its prey - though Krem’s actions had been hardly calculated, more the work of someone desperate and hungry for reason and answers.

Dorian had no idea where they were.  Dorian was probably scared and angry and feeling, for good reason, betrayed.  Bull had taken Dorian’s daughter from him, like a thief.

This was all for their sake, of course.  To keep them safe.  To keep the trail clean.  To keep the emotions severed and cauterized wherever possible.

What if this was where things were going to stay, even after months, after years?  There was always the possibility that the war would not end within their lifetimes.  Like a Blight, dependent entirely on the actions of those he could not see or know.

For all his promises and plans, the only thing Bull could think of was a future where Dorian would never see his daughter again, where Dorian would hate him for the rest of his days, where Dorian would forever blame himself for his misery - if only he had been more careful, if only he hadn’t had children, if only he hadn’t fallen for a heartless qunari. 

Bull had plans.  He repeated the plans in his mind, trying to override the rhythm of his shaking, hiccuping breaths.

He had sent a letter to the Pavus home in Qarinus, sent it with an eagle carrier, paying the extra cost so that it would be there before Dorian arrived.  He sent a veiled and coded message to Vivienne after that, telling her where he would likely be in a few days’ time, telling her the story, and what he needed her to do.

Vivienne had complied.  He needed to have faith that Dorian’s letter would do its job as well.  He would know when Dorian arrived.  Josephine would let him know.  Then he would write another letter.  Well, _Krem_ would write another letter.

This would work.  This would work.  This would work.

He had taken Dorian’s daughter from him.  He hadn’t said goodbye.  Dorian didn’t know where they were.

There was no way Dorian would ever forgive him for this.

He had hurt the man he loved.  Irrevocably.  He hadn’t given Dorian the power to stop him, to say no.

No, no, there was no possibility for that to begin with.  The choice, if any, was an illusion.  This was what was needed.  This would keep them safe.

Bull wanted what Dorian wanted, but he could not give that to him, to them.

He had hurt Dorian.

He was a monster.

“It’s so… _loud_ in here.”

Bull bowed deeper into the false position of prayer, at the voice, stopping up his breath and keeping his eyes closed.

“You kept it quiet, calm and cut close, making it smaller than it seemed.  I felt the other hurts, and followed.  Now I need to help.”

Ah, he recognized the voice.

The vision in his good eye was blurry, even after he wiped away the tears and upset, but he knew Cole’s silhouette anywhere.

“I must be in some bad shape if you came all this way to ‘help’ me, kid,” Bull said.

“I came for Cordula,” Cole said.  “She left something behind that she needed.  But then I heard you hurting, hot and hateful.”

“Yep.  That’s one way to put it.”

Cole paused, thinking, or channeling.  “Dorian is not hurting as much as he was before.  He understands the what and why, and worries without anger.  He trusts you.”

A laugh-sigh-release came out of Bull’s mouth.  “Really.”

“Yes.  It’s… different.  He struggles with it.  Not intimate, but important, not in knots but gestures.  _How typical of him,_ ” Cole continued, with a posh, familiar cadence, _“can’t do anything without putting me in some sort of pain.  As he likes it_.”

Dorian’s thoughts.  A nail of guilt dug further into Bull’s guts.

“He knows you don’t really like it,” Cole said.  He almost sounded apologetic.  “It hurts less when he says things that aren’t true, like that.”

“That’s Dorian, for you,” Bull said.

“He only hurts when he thinks of his children.  _His children_.  He doesn’t understand why you don’t love them like he does.”

“The girls?”

“His children,” Cole said.  “Calming, caring, guiding, pride.  Dorian’s is… softer.”

“He’s their father.  I’m sure the way he loves them isn’t the same as mine.”

(There was no hurt when Bull said this.  The feeling was settled and calm.)

Cole nodded.  “That’s the only thing I hear, now.  I’ll try to heal it if I can.”

“You going back to Dorian from here, huh?”  However Cole managed to teleport about as he did.

“Yes.”

Bull thought, considered.

“You already sent him a message.  I don’t think you need me as your messenger,” Cole said.  “I only seem to find words when I need them, anyways.  They’re... slippery, sometimes.”

“...yeah, probably a good idea.”

“Dorian trusts you, The Iron Bull.”

And Cole was gone.  Bull had to express a certain admiration for his efficiency, leaving before anything could be misconstrued, so that his “help” could settle where it needed.

And he had helped.

Bull put his eyepatch back on.  He took several deep breaths, and left the chantry well before anyone else came in. 

Dorian trusted him.  If nothing else, Dorian trusted him.  The best he could do was repay that trust, and keep his daughter safe.


	3. Scire Facias

“I hate Tevinter,” Ursula declared.

“Come now, darling, you can’t hate something you’ve never seen,” Dorian said.

“I don’t care.  I hate it.”

They were sitting on the same horse together, Dorian keeping her steady between his arms.  This afforded them some degree of privacy, especially when Ursula slumped against her father’s chest, as she was presently doing.

“Do elaborate on this hatred, then,” Dorian said.  “What’s so bad about Tevinter?”

“Tama’s not going to be there,” Ursula said.  “And Cora.  I want Cora here.”

Dorian bent his head so that she could hear him better.  “That, my dear, I can agree with,” he said.

“Why _can’t_ they?” Ursula said.  “It’s stupid.”

“They cannot come with us because I have a job to do in Tevinter, just as Tama has a job to do down south,” Dorian said, patiently, trying to believe it.

“And _Cora_ gets to go with him _why?_ ”

“Because _you_ are coming with _me_ , and we don’t want for either of them to be lonely, hm?”

“Why do _I_ gotta go with you, though?”

She’d asked him this many times before, and Dorian had tried to keep his answers as vague as possible.  Why the answer came to him _here_ was anyone’s guess, but it practically tapped him on the head and rang a bell to let him know.

“Because you are much better at Tevinter-style magic than _Cora_ is, so you would most benefit from an education there,” Dorian said.

“Tevinter-style…?”

“Why, yes.  Down south, they quite frown upon flashy things,” Dorian said.  “But back in Tevinter, they quite _like_ flashy things.  And you are _very_ good at flashy things, my little bear.”

“Like… makin’ stuff explode?”

“ _Exactly_.”

Ursula sat up slightly, apparently satisfied, but she continued on.  “But how come I gotta go with _you,_ though?  I could-a gone with Tama and Cora.  What if I don’t _wanna_ learn flashy magic?”

Moments like this were why Dorian was at once grateful and exasperated that Ursula took after him so much.  “Well, if I didn’t have _you_ with me, I’d be left with your grandparents all on my lonesome.  I’d be _miserable_ without you.”

“...oh,” Ursula said.  “Yeah.  That would be _really_ stupid.”

“Entirely in agreement with you,” Dorian said.  He was grateful for the distance between his father’s horse and his own, but almost wished Halward could hear these small, rebellious encouragements.

\--

Even in his absence, Bull was far too present for Dorian’s comfort.  It was entirely like the lovely oaf, to take up space in even memories and unrelated glances.

He was already there to greet him when he arrived at the Qarinus estate.  Aquinea was more than happy to inform him of such.  “Already receiving mail,” she said, after kissing him on both cheeks.  “You certainly don’t waste any time.”

“Mail for me?” Dorian said.

“Arrived just the other day.”  She handed him the envelope.  It was stamped with a wax seal indicating eagle-post, the fastest available.  Dorian opened it with a furrowed, confused brow.

The first line: _Hey there, big guy._

“I’ll have a look at it later,” Dorian said, primly closing the envelope and stashing it in a pocket.

After suffering through his father laying out a schedule and rebuffing, several times, his mother’s offers for a drink - though he was _sorely_ tempted - Dorian checked in on Ursula.

“Your grandmother certainly had a nice room put together for you,” he said, looking over the decor.  It was all polished obsidian and jade-colored hangings and linens. 

(Would have suited Cora, perfectly.  Ursula looked like a cold, brassy sun within it.)

“I don’t like it,” Ursula said, sitting on the, frankly, _enormous_ bed.  “It’s too… _big_.”

“Certainly not a complaint you hear every day,” Dorian said.

“I miss my old room.”

“I’d say the same, but, technically, my old room _is_ here,” Dorian said.  “And I don’t exactly miss _that_.”

Ursula’s expression shifted to something that would have been sulking if it were less genuine.  Dorian could see her ears drooping under her long waves of brown hair.

(Bull’s ears did that, too.)

“Tell you what, though,” Dorian said, cheerfully, “I’m sure that we can make a marvelous project out of making this room more _you_ , hm?  The color is _all_ wrong, for one.”

“I guess…”

Dorian sat down on the bed next to her and put his hand on her back.  “There, there, old girl.  You’ll be all right.  I’ll see about making this work.”

“I hate Tevinter,” Ursula said, quietly.

“I know, little bear,” Dorian said, pulling her close to him and holding her.  “I know.”

Dorian told himself that he left the letter for the end of the day as a reward for his being a good sport.  It made the pain sweeter, more purposeful.

_Hey there, big guy._

_You made it to Qarinus.  Hard part’s over.  All you have to do now is hang in there for me and be the best damn Vint you can be in that Magisterium.  Fight all you can.  Get this war ended so you can get back home.  I’ll be doing all I can to keep the war away on my end._

_Do me a favour and send Josie a letter when you can, by the way.  She’ll want to know how you’re doing._

_You’ll be hearing from me again soon.  I promise._

_Give Ursula all my love.  I’ll do my best to give Cora all of yours._

_I know this is hard for you.  I’m so proud of you.  I love you._

_Amatus_

How utterly like him, to make even the smallest gesture - a letter - hurt this much.  Couldn’t hardly do anything without making Dorian hurt.  How very, very like him.

He put the letter on his desk, and slowly prepared for bed.  The size, the scale of his family’s wealth here fit him like ill-fashioned robes, and he was in no mind to get used to it immediately.  He would change things.  Eventually.

Laying in the bed, the emptiness on the other side of things hit him with heavy, cold reality.  Back at Skyhold, even as they were preparing to leave, Bull’s smell - sweat and grease and salt - was still on the sheets.  In some capacity, he was still there.

A bedroll was a single, solitary thing.  Built for a purpose, for uncomfortable sleep.

This was a bed, in his home, and Bull was not there.

Dorian slept with a pillow clutched to his chest that night, lukewarm and impersonal and far too soft.

He let it stay uncomfortable.  He wasn’t going to get used to this.  He was going to work.  To fight.

The next morning, Dorian folded Bull’s letter carefully and kept it in a pocket on his belt, taking it out to read it whenever he felt he needed the strength.

And the work began.

He wrote to Josephine, as Bull suggested.  Little more than a “Hello, hoping you are well, did you miss the warm weather as much as I did, et cetera.”  He wrote another letter to Adaar, for good measure.  If she wasn’t at Skyhold, there would certainly be someone still there that could pass it on.

Josephine responded in kind, and Adaar as well.  So it went.

There was a surprising amount of paperwork to be done with regards to Dorian taking Halward’s seat in the Magisterium, and even more with regards to Ursula and her position in the family.  Records had to be changed, added-to.  Explanations had to be made.

“Just say she’s the result of a youthful dalliance in the south,” Dorian said.  “I was simply lucky enough to have my bastard left with me at such an early age.”

“And any reference to the _mother?_ ” Halward said, as he was drafting this out.

“Well, _she_ is obviously not in the picture,” Dorian said.  “Let them make assumptions.  Or would you rather have your son be on the record as mating with a _male_ qunari, hm?”

Halward’s glare was dull steel.  “No mention, then.”

“Far less scandalous to have a simple bastard as your heir, yes?” Dorian continued, far too cheerfully.  “I mean, if the King of Ferelden can be one, why not the future Archon of Tevinter?”

Halward’s glare only dulled.  “The Archon of Tevinter.”

“The heirs of House Pavus must aim high,” Dorian said.

Halward just sourly returned to the paperwork.

Of course, Dorian would never force Ursula into a career where she was not suited.  But she had passion, and promise, and no small amount of charm.  She was his daughter, after all.

Aquinea, claiming that she couldn’t help herself, hosted a welcome-back party for her prodigal son not a week after his return to Qarinus.  It was to be glamorous, well-attended, and flooded with wine.  It would also be an opportunity for Ursula’s informal debut into Altus society.

Dorian was more than a little nervous.  But, if there was anything he learned about working with the Inquisition, it was that you could get away with a _lot_ if you just acted like you knew what you were doing.  He knew that well _before_ joining the Inquisition, of course, but had never seen it put into such effective practice until then.

By the end of the night, there were three assumptions that had gained enough weight to be viewed as well as fact.  The first being that Dorian Pavus, regardless of his private tastes, had enough of an interest in women and drink to produce a proper bastard, and enough shame and desperation to claim her as his own.  The second being that Ursula’s mother was - how shameful! - probably an elf, if the ears were any indication.  Such things carried over sometimes, after all.  Smaller rumors simmered in the wake, rumors that Dorian himself had been fathered by an elf, but they never came to a full boil.  The third was that, for a girl with such an unfortunate, tasteless, background, Ursula was surprisingly charming.  House Pavus was certainly training her well to make up for it, weren’t they?

Dorian couldn’t have been prouder of her.  “I shall write to Madame Vivienne and tell her everything,” he told her, after scooping her up to put her to bed.  “She’ll be immensely pleased, I think.”

(She was getting very heavy, and threatening to grow taller than his shoulders, but Dorian insisted on such gestures for as long as he could manage. )

Ursula had already redecorated the room with the help of Aquinea, who was quite happy to spend unreasonable amounts of Halward’s money on her granddaughter and her whims.  It was a proper chamber of red and gold, now, which matched the stola-gown Ursula had worn that night and was rushing to take off and replace with her nightgown.

“Can we write Tama too?” Ursula said.

“...yes, why don’t you write a letter to Tama?  And I’ll have it sent along once he tells us where he’s settled,” Dorian said.

“Okay,” Ursula said, her smile untarnished and weightless.

In the cold emptiness of the night, Dorian let a kind of guilt into the empty side of his bed.

All of this hinged on Ursula being seen as human.  Cora, his quiet, careful little heart, wouldn’t have even been given the chance.

This would change.  He would make this change.

He said his silent apologies, and folded them into himself, keeping them hot, allowing them to boil off into anger.

He had never wanted so badly to do what was expected of him, to serve in the Magisterium, for the sake of his family.

\--

Two weeks after Dorian had settled back into Qarinus, he received a most unusual letter.

_Magister Pavus,_

_Allow me to introduce myself.  I am Captain Cremisius Aclassi, current leader of the Bull’s Chargers Mercenary Company.  I hail originally from Tevinter, and though I am but a lowly soporatus by birth, I wish to extend this offer to you on behalf of our shared nationality._

_It has come to my understanding that you spent quite some time away from the Imperium in southern Thedas, and that you established several friendships there as well.  Times being as they are, I imagine that communicating with these friends may prove difficult at times.  This is where my men come in._

_Though we are primarily a mercenary company, the Chargers would be quite content to pass messages and parcels to your various friends and contacts.  We have an established office in Orlais where we can receive any mail from you and send it to their intended recipient._

_Of course, if there is any work of a martial nature that you would ask of us, we are absolutely at your service._

_You may direct your reply and all further queries to the following address.  Payment will likewise be handled by our Orlesian office._

_Yours in service,_

_Captain Cremisius Aclassi_

Dorian was laugh-crying by the end of the letter.  Krem.  Of course.  Vints had to look out for Vints, after all.  They _could_ look out for each other.

He wasted no time in letting Captain Aclassi know that he would greatly appreciate the Chargers’ service.  He kept the language formal, distant - they didn’t know each other, naturally.  This was just an inquiry of business, business which Dorian appreciated.

Krem’s reply, which came a week later, contained details of payment and an expression of eagerness for Dorian’s future business.

There was another letter in the envelope, however, written in a different, careful hand.

_Dorian,_

_What did I say?  I told you that you’d be hearing from me.  There you go._

_You don’t have to be all oblique like that, I doubt that people are going through your letters._

_Write to me all you want.  I’ll write back._

_Cora misses her Papa and her sister.  I miss my big heart and my little bear._

_Stay strong for me, big guy.  I love you._

_Amatus_

And, just like that, the distance between them didn’t feel so distant.  Bull’s presence in absence no longer felt so oppressive.

Dorian included Ursula’s letter, kept in his desk drawer in a hopeful gesture, with his reply.  Both of them received replies within the month.

This continued on.  This continued steadily, and surely.

This was not right, but this would work, for the time being.

Dorian would change things.


	4. Sub Silentio

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a little note, prompted by wanderingidealism: Bunny the mabari went with Dorian and Ursula to Tevinter, and there she is doing a lovely job of keeping their feets warm and their homes safe. That's all!

Cora was very grateful for dreams. They were welcome escapes from boring days of riding with Tama and his people, where there was nothing but road and conversations she couldn’t join. 

Even better, she could dream anywhere.  It took practice, but she was eventually able to drift off just as easily in the saddle with her Tama as she could in her bedroll at the end of the day.  Whatever was in the Fade was usually more interesting than whatever job they were heading to or from.

Of course, she got to do fun things in the waking world, too.  Her Tama had a lot of friends that they visited in between the work.  They ran into her Auntie Sera an awful lot, and people with messages from Auntie Sera.  There would always be lessons with Madame Vivienne when they stopped at the Office, a building in the town near the Madame’s house where they had beds and got letters from Papa.

(The Chargers’ center of operations, which was established, financed, and maintained by Vivienne, was given to them only on the condition that Cora receive her education from Vivienne in between.  If the girl was to live without the benefit of a proper Circle education, she could at _least_ learn from the best.)

(Bull didn’t know shit about magic and Dalish wasn’t much better, as far as he was concerned.  Vivienne knew what she was doing, so he accepted the offer without hesitation.)

(Vivienne knew a splendid political opportunity in the making when she saw one, but she also wanted to make _damn_ certain that Cora would _not_ end up some shabby _hedge_ mage.  Not with _her_ bloodline.)

Vivienne’s lessons were _fun_ , without a doubt.  She learned things like how to form ice in and around her hands into flawless, glass-like spheres.  She learned how to tell where a person was from and what they did for work from their clothes and how they looked and talked.  She learned the names of spices and poisons.

“All important things for a proper lady to know,” Vivienne explained to her.  “The battlefield is a world of obvious danger, but it is in ballrooms and palaces that _true_ danger lies, my dear.  You must be prepared.”

“Yes, Madame Vivienne...” Cora said.  She was confused, and maybe a little scared, but mostly excited to simply _learn._

That was the other reason she liked dreaming.  She could still learn, in dreams, things that Tama and Madame Vivienne couldn’t teach her.

Cole was not her teacher.  He was more of a guide, a guardian, taking her to the safe and shining spaces of the Fade, keeping the fearsome and fiery far.  He always seemed to be there when she needed him, calling her when she was curious, watching on with distance when she wasn’t.

The Fade was full of stories, emotions that came and went through her like music, more immediate and lasting than any book she could read when waking.  There was always something strange and wonderful hidden in fabric of wherever she traveled, things to learn that nobody else could show her.

And one day, Cole showed her how to find Ursula in her dreams.  The real Ursula, not some summoned image of her.

It was easier than Cora thought it would be, once she got over the initial disbelief, certain that anything she tried would only end in pretty images, illusions.  This was certainly the way that the Fade usually worked, giving form to her thoughts, no matter how unlikely.

“There is a thread between you,” Cole explained, when she questioned him.  “Tying, trailing, tied as twins, together.  All you need to do is pull.”

“Pull…?”

“Feel her feelings, hear her heart, aligned with yours,” Cole said.  “Pull.”

Cora visualized, as he had said, a thread connecting her to Ursula.  It glowed violet - not-blue-not-red-but-both.  A mixing of their blood, their selves.

She pulled.

And Ursula appeared before her.  She wandered, absently, looking at nothing in particular, green-yellow clouds of thought parting in her presence.

“Sister!” Cora called.  Ursula turned, responded, and her smile was dazed and dreamy.

“Cora,” she said.  “How lovely to see you.  What shall we do today?”

“Ursula, it’s _me_ ,” Cora said.  She stepped forward with eager, hungry steps, but hesitated in touching her.  Things could _feel_ solid in the Fade, but there was always a hollowness, a falseness in the touch.  Cole felt certain, solid, present, though his hands were cool, though his words were windy.  He was the same inside the Fade as he was outside it.

Cora held her sister’s shoulders, and she felt that they were real.

Ursula felt it too, for an alertness came upon her, widening her eyes, her smile.  She hugged Cora, tightly, lifting her into the air for a moment.  “Sister!  How are you _doing_ this?”

“Cole showed me how,” Cora replied, stepping away from the hug, gesturing to him.

Cole was standing some ways away, but there was a wide, warm smile on his face, joy in the way he held his hands in each other.  “You missed each other too much.  I found a way to help,” he said.

“You can do this again, right?” Ursula said, eagerly.  “Like, if we’re both sleeping?”

“Yeah, I guess so…” Cora said, shrugging.  “I mean, I can always try it again later… but never mind that!  How’s Tevinter?  How’s Papa?  Is he okay?”

“I could ask the same of you!” Ursula said.  “Your letters take way too dang long!  And Tama’s are always so _short_ , it’s _stupid_.”

“He says we can’t say too much,” Cora said.  “Just in case.”

“Just in case of _what?_ ”

“I dunno…” Cora said.  “People that want to hurt us, I think.”

“Have… people tried to hurt you and Tama, Cora?” Ursula said, a quietness in her voice that was very much unlike her.

“Not on purpose, I think…” Cora said.

(Though she knew there was a reason for all her lessons, for all the secrecy.  Tama kept her away from jobs where they needed to fight people, but sometimes she wondered…)

Ursula gave her another hug, a strong, needing hug.  “This isn’t fair,” she said, her voice smothered by Cora’s shoulder.  “I miss you.  Papa misses you.”

“I miss you too, Ursa,” Cora said.

“Now, I want you to tell me _everything_ ,” Ursula said, firmly, holding Cora’s shoulders.  “Ev-er-y-thing.”

“I’ll… try my best,” Cora said.

“Her best” involved using the Fade to conjure up marvelous images of the things she had seen on her travels thus far.  Ursula watched on, dazzled, little seeds of inadequacy in her heart.  The magic that favored her was loud and obvious, not this delicate, beautiful stuff.  She had to study harder, if she wanted to come even remotely close to her sister’s skill.

\--

Ursula woke from the dream feeling slightly disoriented, questioning what she had seen and heard.  It had been so vivid, so solid, so unlike her other, usual dreams.  Cora had been in it, and Cole, and so many other things…

She thought nothing of it until the next night, when Cora entered her dreams again.  “Hey.  Tell me something,” Ursula told her, as she had been thinking for most of the day.

“Okay…?  Tell you _what?_ ”

“Tell me something and put it in a letter tomorrow and send it here.  Something I wouldn’t normally know.”

“Ohh.  To make sure that this isn’t just Fade-stuff,” Cora said.  “Okay, um… Wyvern Wings.”

“Wyvern Wings?”

“Yeah.  It’s not something you’d think of normally, and I can remember it in the morning.”

“Wyvern Wings, Wyvern Wings, Wyvern Wings…”  Ursula repeated it with her eyes closed, committing to it.  “Okay.”

The phrase stayed clear in her mind, in the morning, and she took care to write it down somewhere just in case she forgot.  A little over a week passed with the possibly-Cora in her dreams at night, until the letter came.

It was a typical letter from Cora, fitting on a single page, light on detail but enthusiastic and to-the-point.

Then, below her signature: _PS - Wyvern Wings!_

There was a little explosion of happiness in Ursula’s heart.  She confused her Papa quite a bit when she told him she couldn’t wait for bedtime, that night, when she normally resisted the thing to no end.

Cora was in the dream, again, as usual.  But this time, Ursula knew she was real.

“Wyvern Wings!” Ursula shouted.  “There were Wyvern Wings in your letter!”

“Yes,” Cora said.

The conversation drifted here and there for a small, wonderful eternity, before an important question surfaced.  “What should we tell Papa and Tama?” Ursula said.

“Um… well, Tama doesn’t really care much about magic…” Cora said.  “Maybe you should talk to Papa, first, and see what he says?  And I’ll talk to Madame Vivienne next time I see her.”

“Okay,” Ursula replied.  “So… what, do I tell him that I saw you in a dream, only, it was really you?”

“Yeah, something like that.”

So, when she woke, that was precisely what Ursula did.  “Papa, Cora’s been in my dreams, lately!”

Dorian looked over his morning tea with a weary, though fond, expression.  “Ah, you’ve been dreaming about her too, have you?”

“No, not dreaming _about_ her,” Ursula said, “she’s been _in_ my dreams.  _Visiting_ me.  For _real_.”

“Is that so?” Dorian said.  “Perhaps you should write her a letter.  It sounds like you miss her.”

Ursula sighed, slightly frustrated.   “Well, _yeah,_ I miss her,” she said, “but she’s _there_.  I’ll prove it to you.”

“Will you, now?” Dorian said, idly.

“Yes,” Ursula said, with very much grit and determination.

She got her proof in a letter from her Tama at the end of the month.  It was an aside, just a few sentences, but it was enough.

_By the way, Cora insisted that I tell you that the jet-tipped pen is in Ursula’s room.  I have no idea what that means, but she said you would know._

Ursula had hidden the quill, of course, and relished her father’s annoyance at its absence, since it would make the revelation harder to ignore.  She had, of course, told Cora where she had hidden it.  And she was, as planned, in her room when her father came looking for it.

“Looking for the jet-tip quill?” she said, reclining on her bed with a very satisfied smirk on her face.

“How did you-?”

“Told Cora.  In a dream.  I _told_ you,” Ursula said.  “She visits in my dreams, and I visit her.  We can talk all we want when we’re asleep.”

“...I shall reserve my fatherly pride for _after_ you relinquish my pen, my dear daughter,” Dorian said.

Ursula got off her bed and retrieved the pen from her desk drawer.  “Here it is.”

Dorian took the pen, nodding, satisfied.  “Very good, then.  Now.”  He put the pen down on the desk’s surface and lunged forward to sweep his daughter into a very big hug.  “You clever little _sneak!_ However did you manage?”

“Papa, let _go!_ ” Ursula giggled, and she managed to get out of the hug.  “It was mostly Cora.  Cole showed her how to find me, and now we talk every night.”

“Remarkable!  And you always manage to find each other in the Fade?” Dorian said.  He had an airy excitement in his voice that usually came about when he was making plans for something. 

“Yep.  Every night,” Ursula said.  “Cole says we’re tied to each other, or something.  So all we have to do is pull and, if we’re both sleeping, we can talk and stuff.”

“I have _never_ heard of that before,” Dorian said.  “Remarkable.  Remarkable!”

“You’re repeating yourself, Papa.”

Dorian’s smile was warm and proud.  “Oh, you clever, _clever_ girl.”

“It’s really all _Cora’s_ magic, Papa…” Ursula’s face was beginning to burn.

“You are _both_ my clever girls,” Dorian said.  “And I highly encourage this sort of behavior.”

Ursula’s grin felt stolen, but comfortable.  “Okay.”

Cora’s ventures involved significantly less theft and enthusiasm overall.  She reasoned that her Papa would inform her Tama better than she could, so she was only forthcoming with Madame Vivienne.

“I found that I can visit with Ursula in the Fade, Madame Vivienne,” she began, in the middle of one of their lessons.  “And I mean her dreaming-self, not just an image.”

“Is that so, dear?” Vivienne said. 

“Yes.  I did tests to make sure of it.  Secret phrases in letters and things…”

“And what method do you use to meet?”

“We just… think of each other, I guess.  I just have to ‘pull’ and she’s there.”

“However did you figure that out?”

Cora hesitated.  Vivienne regarded spirits with the same level of caution and disinterest as she did raw magic.  “Cole showed me how.”

“Did he ask anything of you in return?” Vivienne said. 

“No.”

“Then carry on as you were, dear.  Just use caution,” Vivienne said.  “If that thing ever asks _anything_ of you, deny it.  Destroy it as well, preferably.”

“Yes, Madame Vivienne…” Cora said.  She kept her voice leashed, fading as if she truly felt rebuked.

(This was another of Vivienne’s lessons.  A well-kept air of meekness was excellent camouflage in the Game, though not armor.  That, if necessary, would come later.)

\--

“So Grandma taught me a new game, recently,” Ursula said, one night.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.  It’s called ‘Annoy The Husband.’  Guess what you have to do?”

“I have no idea,” Cora said, her lips pursed cheekily.

“I get to mess with Grandfather.  And Grandmother _helps_ ,” Ursula said.  “And Bunny.  And sometimes Papa.”

This really was something of a revelation, once Aquinea gave a formal name to the behavior.  She and Ursula were already bonding very well, but this cemented their relationship _completely_.

“What do you do to mess with Grandfather?” Cora asked.

“Grandmother says that I can, and _should,_ ask for anything I _want_ ,” Ursula replied.  “And if he says _no_ , all I have to do is tell her, and she’ll get him to do it.”

“That’s all?”

“Yeah, mostly.  Grandmother _highly_ encourages me to ask for things,” Ursula said.  “Only, I don’t really know what to ask for, half the time.  But as long as it annoys Grandfather, it’s okay, apparently.”

“Does Grandfather… still say weird things to you?” Cora said.

“Weird things?”

“Like… I don’t know, talking about your ears, or things about Tama…”

Ursula shrugged.  “Nah.  He’s usually out of the house, anyways,” she said.  “He and Papa are real busy with work.  They haven’t elected an Archon yet.  Lots to do.”

Despite this - though perhaps not surprisingly - it was Dorian that ended up being the most major player of the Annoy Halward game, aside from his mother.  He was well-practiced at spending his father’s money, after all.

“...a _Qunlat_ tutor?” Halward said, scowling at the request in his study.

“Ursula needs to keep up her fluency,” Dorian said.

“Unnecessary.”

“Is it, Father?” Dorian said.  “You’d rather your heir be ignorant of diplomatically-convenient studies?  Well, I suppose you know best…”

Halward, shortly thereafter, hired a Rivaini tutor - a _human_ one, he insisted, at great cost - to assist Ursula with her Qunlat studies.

“And Papa asks me to teach him things on the side,” Ursula reported, in the following dream.  “That way we can say things without Grandfather understanding us.”

“ _Do you wish for me to help you practice?_ ” Cora asked, in Qunlat.

 _“You thought I would not ask?”_ Ursula said.

 _“It is the gesture which carries meaning,_ ” Cora said.  “ _Not the thought of anticipation._ ”

“Man, you sound like some sorta… sage or hermit or something, when you talk like that,” Ursula said, wrinkling her nose.  “Like Koslun.”

“Oh, I’m sorry…”

“No!  It’s cool!  It sounds _cool_ ,” Ursula replied, quickly.

\--

There was one night, perhaps a year into the separation, that Ursula found it taking quite some time to reach Cora.  When her sister finally appeared, after what felt like forever, she looked… _tired_.

“Hey, where were you?” Ursula said, after hugging her for a bit longer than usual.  “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, just… took a while for us to find somewhere to sleep tonight,” Cora replied.

“What?  Why?”

“It’s really nothing, we managed to find somewhere…”

(Cora was an excellent liar, but she was powerless against her sister.)

“Cora, what happened?” Ursula said, her voice stern and commanding.

Cora sighed, and gestured to a summoned, shady tree, where they could sit comfortably.  “We were looking for an inn to sleep, and none of them would let us stay.”

“ _None_ of them?”

“They… said they didn’t serve qunari,” Cora said.

“Cora, seriously?”  Ursula held her sister’s hands very, very tightly.

“Ursula, you don’t have to get angry…”

“Why wouldn’t they serve qunari?” Ursula continued, the heat in her voice unabated.

“There’s that war going on up north, so...” 

“That stupid war is _hundreds_ of miles from Orlais!”

“People are scared,” Cora said.  “Tama says they just want someone to blame.  It’s just how people are.”

Ursula spat out a colorful string of Tevene, phrases concerning motherless dogs and filth.

(Cora was dismayed to realize that she barely understood her.)

“I’m gonna tell Papa,” Ursula continued, in a more common tongue.  “He’ll do something about this.”

“Ursa, you don’t have to do that…”

“I don’t have to, but I want to, okay?” Ursula said.  “Papa has to know.”

“You shouldn’t make him worry, Ursula,” Cora said.  “He’s already got a lot to worry about.”

“Yeah?  He’s already worried about you and Tama all the time, what’s a little more worry?” Ursula said.  “It’ll make him feel better if he can help.”

“I guess…”

“Cora.”  Ursula took her by the shoulders and gave her a very direct stare.  “I’m not gonna let this happen again.  Okay?”

“If you say so…”

“I _do_ say so.”  There was salt and fire in Ursula’s eyes.

As predicted, Dorian _did_ do something about it.  Waiting at the Office the next time the Chargers called in was a very official-looking form, and a very cross letter from Dorian.

The form was a certificate of employment, stating that the Chargers were to be considered an extension of House Pavus of Qarinus, and that any harm or inconvenience brought to them would be considered a harm or inconvenience to the House.  This applied to anything from lodging to crossing the Tevinter border, if necessary.

Dorian’s letter elaborated upon this:

_If anyone should ever give you trouble for being a qunari, I imagine that being in the employ of an Altus family of Tevinter will very quickly correct any assumption that you are a spy for the Qun.  The form may not hold up as well within the borders of Tevinter, but it should be enough to give you passage if there is ever an emergency, or if times change for the better._

_Also, amatus, please do not leave it up to our daughters to inform me when you are having difficulty.  I imagine you would very much dislike it for me to march all the way down to Orlais and drag you to safety._

Needless to say, the Chargers did not experience much difficulty with lodging from that point onward.  Fancy documents, combined with Official-Looking Seals and all, were enough for even the most particular establishments and their innkeepers.

\--

“You want to send her _what_ for her name-day?”

Another round of Annoy Halward had begun, set into play by Dorian, as was natural.

“Sending crystals.  For Cora.  She needs a means to keep in touch with us more immediately, I think,” Dorian said.

“Do you have any idea how expensive those are?” Halward said, lowly.

“Very!” Dorian said, brightly.  “If it helps, it shall be her _only_ gift.  And the other crystal may go to Ursula as _her_ gift.  You shall not have to get them anything further for their name-days.”

“This is a waste of House Pavus’s time and resources,” Halward said.

“Really?  I imagine that the party Mother wants to put together for Ursula would be an even _greater_ waste,” Dorian said.  “Shall I tell her that she has your permission to go forward with the planning, then?”

Halward sighed, then he groaned.  “If I am to have a choice, I would much prefer the crystals.”

“I _knew_ you’d see reason, Father,” Dorian said.

As promised, he told Aquinea that Halward did not approve of her plans for a party.  As expected, Aquinea completely ignored the both of them and put together a party for Ursula anyways.  By the time Halward found out, however, he had already purchased the crystals, so the matter was settled, as far as Aquinea was concerned.

And it really was a lovely party.  Shockingly understated, for Aquinea.  Dorian suspected that Ursula had some hand in that.

Dorian presented his daughter with her half of the crystal set well after the party, when everything was winding down and they could have some privacy.  He’d had the thing set into an oblong gold locket with the seal of House Pavus engraved on the cover.

(Cora’s matching locket was set in silverite.  More excellent uses of Halward’s money, of course.)

“What _is_ this?” Ursula said.

“This is a sending crystal, my dear,” Dorian said, proudly.  “It’s a way for you and Cora to talk to each other long-distance.”

“But… we already do that.  Like, every night.”  Ursula was smiling in a way that she was clearly trying not to make condescending or rude.

“Well… _yes_ , but you can talk to more than just Cora with this,” Dorian said.  “Say… Tama, or Uncle Krem.”

Ursula switched almost immediately from humoring her father to humming with excitement.  “Oh!  Can I _really?_   How, tell me how!”

“Put your finger on it, like this,” he said, demonstrating, “and if the other crystal is also lit, then you’ll be able to hear each other.”

“And Cora’s getting one, too?”

“Yes.  She should have received it, by now.”

Ursula clutched the locket, glowing faintly, pleasantly blue, to her chest.  “I can’t _wait_ to try this out.”

The twins negotiated the actual use of the lockets during their dreams, that night.  Ursula woke, practically vibrating, with a plan already in mind.

“We’re gonna talk when she’s done with breakfast!” she announced.  The crystal was already activated, the locket sitting open on the dining room table beside her.

“I look forward to seeing how it works out,” Dorian replied.

Some small, nervous little thread was humming in his heart, parallel to Ursula’s excitement.  So much time had passed - two years?  They’d only celebrated Ursula’s birthday once, but…

Two years.  Since he’d last been able to feel Bull’s warmth, in his hands, in his bed.  Since he’d heard his voice.

...sure, perhaps he had been a little selfish and gotten the crystals mostly as a gift for _himself_.  The girls would, obviously, get priority in using them, but he had no doubt they would let him and Bull use them on occasion.  Possibly.  Maybe.

Oh, he was a terribly manipulative person and an even worse father, surely, but it was his only surefire way of obtaining the crystals from his father.  And it benefitted the girls, besides.  So there.

“Hello?  Hello?”  A small, hollow, familiar voice radiated suddenly from the locket on the table.  Dorian fumbled with his spoon as he heard it.  His little heart!

“Cora!  Cora, that you?”  Ursula practically stood on her chair, leaning over the locket eagerly.  “Can you hear me?”

“Yeah!  I can hear you just fine!” Cora’s voice replied.  “This is amazing!”

“Yeah!  Papa, can you hear this?”  Ursula whipped her head up, her bed-tangled hair falling over her shoulders.

“Yes indeed, my girl,” Dorian said.  The tense thrum in his heart only quickened.  “Hello, Cora.”

“Hello, Papa!  Tama, can you hear too?”

“Yep.  Happy birthday, little bear.  Wish I could be there.”

His voice was shrunken, miniaturized, yet it still felt heavy and warm.

“It’s okay, Tama.  I know you do.”  Ursula aimed another excited glance at Dorian.  “Papa, say hello already!”

“Oh.”  It felt like all the wind had been knocked out of him, only… pleasant.  Dorian managed to inhale.  “Yes, uh… hello, Bull,” he said.

“Hey, kadan.”

Oh, it wasn’t nearness, or touch, but it was _him_.

“Keeping yourself out of trouble, I hope?” Dorian said, clearing his throat, trying to maintain his volume.

“Much as I can.  What, you worrying about me?” Bull said, a twist of teasing fondness in his voice.

“Worrying about you?” Dorian said.  “You’re out of my sight for two years and you ask if I _worry_ about you?  Of _course_ I do, you insensitive brute.”

“ _Pa_ pa!” Ursula giggled.

“Hey, don’t want to assume anything,” Bull said.  “You wanna talk, though, let’s let the girls have their time first.”

“Fair enough,” Dorian said.  His heart was racing almost painfully.  Bull’s little anticipations, the way he caught Dorian before he had a chance to fall.  It had been too long.

“I’m gonna go to my room an’ talk to Cora for a little bit, then.  ‘kay?” Ursula said.  She scooped up the locket and held it in her cupped hands.  “I’ll bring it back when it’s your turn, Papa.”

“Whatever you want, Ursa,” Dorian said.

“I’ll be over there, Cora,” Bull’s voice, receding away, said.

“Okay, Tama.  We won’t take long, Papa,” Cora said.

“My dear little heart, why are you worried about _me?_ ” Dorian said.  “Take all the time you need.”

“Okay…”  He could hear the smile on Cora’s face.

(“Papa didn’t really get the crystals for you and me, did he?” Cora asked, from the shelter of Ursula’s room.)

(“Are you kidding?  Of course he didn’t,” Ursula said.  “He won like three rounds of Annoy Grandfather getting them for ‘me,’ though.”)

Dorian was alone with his breakfast tea and crumpets for truly a very short time, though the length and silence were downright oppressive.  He tried not to look too eager when Ursula came back with the locket.  “Finished already?” he said.

“I _told_ you, we talk in our dreams, like, every night,” Ursula said.  She carefully set the locket in front of him and cheekily held her hands behind her back.  “Here.  Tama wants to talk to you.  I’ll give you some time alone…”

“The cheek my own daughter is showing me!  Bull, can you hear this?” Dorian said, fighting against the heat in his face.

“Excellent show of discretion, little bear,” Bull said, from the locket.  “You pick that up in Tevinter?”

“Not telling!”  Ursula skipped out of the room before either of them could say any more.

“You’re a bad influence on that girl, kadan,” Bull said.

“ _I’m_ a bad influence?  I’d say she’s learning proper social conduct and decorum,” Dorian said.  He was covering his mouth, trying to put a different emotion in his voice, one that wouldn’t turn to tears.

“Whatever you say.”  Bull made an attempt at a laugh, but it was more of an exhale, a release  “Shit, kadan, it feels so good to hear your voice.”

“I missed you too,” Dorian said.  The heat in his face had started to collect in his eyes, and he wiped half-needlessly at them.


	5. Patres Familias

Bull expected for there to be some degree of pain, being separated from Ursula.  There were rational reasons for this: it was his duty to protect her, and her absence was a rogue element.  He did not like rogue elements.  Rogue elements were dangerous.  Rogue elements got people killed.

Ursula was an asset.  A precious thing.  Something to be protected.  He didn’t doubt that Dorian and practically the entire hierarchy of Tevinter were doing a good enough job at keeping Ursula safe, but some things were so important that you had to personally see to their care.

That was just how Bull was, he supposed.  He cared too much about his assignments.

But as time progressed, the pain grew stranger.  He approached this like a puzzle, a problem to be solved, like he always did.  The closeness to Cora was only amplifying the distance from Ursula, he concluded.  The dangers that the world put Cora in, and his protection of her in turn, dovetailing into hypothetical scenarios for what would have happened if it had been Ursula, if it had been both of them.

In his memory of her, in the solid structure she had developed before losing - no, it wasn’t losing if it was voluntary - separating from her - regardless.  Ursula was just… so much like Dorian.  All fire and posturing, with just a veneer of theatricality.  She did not so much obey rules as she made them suit her whims.  She could be very persuasive, if she wanted to be, and she played off her rougher features as charms.

She would be harder to care for, in this environment.  She had a strong heart, sometimes too strong.  She would want to fight for herself, even if it put her in danger.  She wouldn’t run when she was told.

Cora was obedient and quiet and she ducked under rules that she could not avoid.  She would run if she was told to run.  She would keep herself safe if Bull could not.

(She would thrive, under the Qun.  She could keep quiet and keep secrets.  She was getting to be about the age that the tamassrans would test her, that he would test her.  If she kept her magic hidden - and she could, that was her nature - she would serve brilliantly in the Ben-Hassrath, gathering her secrets, hiding behind the soft voice that Vivienne was cultivating.)

(Ursula wouldn’t hide, wouldn’t lie, and she would get her mouth sewn, her mind dulled, chained and captive.  She was a dangerous thing.)

(But then Bull would cut the thoughts off, cauterize them, keep them from going any further.  These were not necessary thoughts, contingency plans to keep in place for remote possibilities.)

(This would not be even a remote possibility.  This would be an impossibility.  This would never happen.)

(He would never let the girls become saarebas.)

Thoughts like this, like these, were what caused the pain, the anxiety.  There was so much to account for.  So much that could go wrong, that he couldn’t ensure.

Ursula was in the best environment she could be in, he told himself.  She was where she was supposed to be, he told himself.

At the end of the day, however, he had to admit this: he missed her.  He missed her like he missed Dorian, _because_ he missed Dorian, but… somehow that didn’t seem right. 

With Dorian, Bull missed the balance, the counterweight that Dorian gave to his life.  He missed the spice and heat of Dorian’s body, and kept the memory sharp in his mind for the nights he had alone, and for the nights when Cora’s locket glowed blue and Dorian’s voice was there for comfort.

(And, well, other things.  There was a reason why Bull only ever talked to Dorian at length in private.)

(Dorian’s enormous talent for talking had only improved in his time serving the Magisterium.)

Rationally, he did not _need_ Dorian in his life, but Dorian _was_ a need.  Dorian was a need that was sated with words and promises.  Dorian was assurance and hope and warmth.

Rationally, Ursula was nothing more than an addition to Dorian, an extension of his love and influence, a thing related to him that was precious by association.  Rationally, Ursula was less than a need.

...why did this feel like a lie?

Distance bred unfamiliarity, and unfamiliarity bred dissonance.  False thoughts.  Fallacies.

He’d been through this before.  After Seheron, after he was sent to Orlais, in all the years after, he would find thoughts no longer settling like they should have, in his mind.  Things that the Qun could not address, would not address.  He let the thoughts roll and polish themselves away with time, with experience, until only what was left was regarded as a strange sort of truth.  Adaptations.  Additions.

The years in passing - two, three, four now - he didn’t want to count them, after a while - were doing this all over again.  Wearing away and polishing the untrue and letting the truth settle. 

And some truths, once held so close and near him, no longer settled or sat within him as easily.

Ursula was - she was not - some extension of Dorian.  Well, of course not, she was an individual with her own thoughts and opinions and feelings.  She was physically and psychically separate from him, just as Cora was.

But there was… _more_ to this.  He missed her like he missed Dorian, but not like how he missed Dorian, not _because_ of Dorian.  He missed her copper-bright smile, the way she ran to him when he came home from a job, her joyful squeal of “Tama!”

...ah, yes, that was it.  He was her tamassran.  He missed her in the way a tamassran would, when away from their wards, when duty and time took their imekari elsewhere.

...if that had been a truth, even once, it did not settle like a truth should have.  He had not been a tamassran under the Qun, so he could not speak for how they thought and felt about their imekari.  He had only his own experience, his memories, the words of his own tamassrans.

The words that came to mind were pride, satisfaction, duty, care.  And, yes, he felt those things with Ursula.  He felt pride in his memories of her certain, confident sparring, sculpted and trained with his words; satisfaction in seeing her finer qualities blossom under his care.  Yet…

Duty carried with it a tone of obligation.  Care felt too impersonal for what he felt, what he gave to Ursula.  Care was ensuring her survival, meeting standards.  What he wanted for her…

He wanted for harm never to come to her.  For the world to be a place where she could blossom and grow, safely, where she could reach her own potential on her own.  He wanted for her to be _safe_ , for her to know that she was cared-for, unconditionally, and that no matter how old she got, her Tama would be there for her.

And he wanted the same for Cora - he wanted this, equally, for the girls.  But Cora was with him, near him, and he could provide for her, in any way, immediately.  He could keep her safe. 

Ursula was not near him.  He could not keep her safe.  So he trusted Dorian to keep her safe, because he loved Dorian, because Dorian would take care of her.  She was his daughter, after all.

The best Bull could do was to try and provide for Cora, his other daughter, to a comparable degree.

Comparable, but not identical.  These were Dorian’s daughters, after all.  His family.  Bull provided for them because of his love for Dorian, his balance, his heart.  They were all one unit.

...that was the explanation.  They were one unit, one responsibility, one duty, but that was… _simplifying_ it, somehow.  Yes, they were three people, but that wasn’t the falsehood here.  The Chargers were many people, but one treasured concept in his mind, after all.

This was the final piece of the problem, the shard that dug in and festered until the danger grew too close for him to ignore it all.

\--

The evening that everything changed was a quiet one.  The Chargers had made camp in a forest just on the edge of farmland, secluded and inconspicuous.  They had made camp in places very much like this before, and evening was claiming them, one by one, for sleep.

Grim and Bull were keeping watch, as they usually did.  Bull didn’t sleep much, if he could help it, but especially not in situations like this.

He’d been seeing signs all day, and had directed for camp to be made with a clear shot at the fields.  Open land.  Nowhere to hide, at least on one side of things.  If an attempt was to be made, out of desperation or impatience or fatigue, they would have better chances with less cover.

Krem and Skinner woke for their shift at guard duty, and Bull let his body relax visibly as he laid down by Cora, his breath slowing convincingly.  Not yet sleep.  Not yet.

The ambush came, then.  He woke from his feigned sleep and, seconds later, had his axe in hand.  The force was three elves, one human, two qunari.  Bull went for the one with the most armor.

The rest of the camp was awake shortly afterward.  Krem joined him, attacking with his maul from behind the armored qunari - not a beresaad, but equipped for a hard fight.  The air prickled with the rainy-acid smell of ozone from Dalish’s efforts. 

Then, cold air - Cora, aimed and calculated, putting small, sharp barriers of ice between them and the ambush.  A smile, a curl of pride twitched across Bull’s face for a moment - an understood emotion, a rational response.  He turned his attention to the next asshole in line.

Until he heard Cora screaming.  One of the viddathari assassins, an elf, had slipped near her and had her in a hold, collapsed onto one knee.  “Tama!”  Her voice was strangled and tight as she struggled.

There was no coherent thought, no words for what he felt in that moment.  All Bull knew was that he’d never felt so scared, and that he had to get his daughter out of danger.

Bull hurtled toward them.  He had heat in his hands, in his throat.  His axe was well-sharpened, and easily separated the elf from Cora.  Another swing, the blade against the neck, and it was done.

Krem finished off the remaining straggler, a human, and wiped off his forehead with the back of his hand.  “Bandits?  Out here?” he said, exhaling almost in annoyance.

“No, not bandits,” Skinner said.  She pointed.  “Armor’s too good.”

“Chief?” Krem looked strangely lost, catching his breath, looking to Bull for affirmation.

Bull had gently pulled Cora back to her feet, firm, supporting hands behind her back. 

(She was nearly as tall as Dorian, now, yet she seemed so very small to him, in that moment.)

“Yeah,” Bull said.  “Probably Qunari.”

“Qunari?” Krem said.  “What would they be doing out here…?”  His voice trailed off, and he swallowed.

“Could be anything,” Bull said.  He kept his voice neutral, calm, reassuring in its vagueness.  “Forward scouts for a future operation, maybe.  Could be anything.”

(They were there for him.  There was no other reason.  They had waited for him to let down his guard.  No more.  No less.)

(They’d gone after his…)

“Let’s find somewhere a bit more populated.  Got a feeling none of us will be sleeping again, any time soon,” Bull continued.  “Map said there was a hamlet north of here.  We should shoot for that.”

“Sounds good, Chief,” Krem said.  His face was set, wanting for trust and not quite getting there.  Bull nodded, acknowledging receipt, a promise for a later conversation.

“Imekari, stay close to me,” Bull said.  He held out his hand to her, and she took it. 

Bull kept his thoughts aimed on travel alone, until they reached the hamlet.  There was no inn to speak of, but an impressive stable near the outskirts.  Krem made an attempt at bartering, which mostly consisted of pressing a bag of gold into the farm-hand’s hands and promising that there wouldn’t be trouble.  The farm-hand, himself resting in a pile of hay, went back to sleep not long after.

It was just before sunrise, and the sky was rose-cream-orange, sweet and dangerous.  The bedrolls were set out and most everyone else was back to sleep before it could get too light.

“I’ll be right back,” Bull told Cora.  “I’m not going anywhere.”  This was a needless gesture - he was just going a few feet away, to speak with Krem, but somehow it felt like a necessity.

“Okay, Tama.”  Cora was half-sitting against a pile of straw, her knees drawn to her chest.  Her staff leaned beside her in a similarly-exhausted manner.

Bull’s gaze lingered on her, stretched and aching from some lack of clarity.

He returned to Krem.  “We should get out of Ferelden,” he began, once they had some degree of privacy.  “I don’t know if those were scouts or an aimed hit, but I don’t plan on sticking around to find out.”  Only half of the sentence was a lie, though he took no pride in the accomplishment.  “We should clear out of this place soon, really.”

“Yeah.  We’re overdue for a visit to the Office, actually,” Krem said, nodding.  “So, we head west once everyone’s rested?”

“Yeah.  Sounds good,” Bull said.

“And that _includes_ you, Chief,” Krem said.  “Get some sleep.  I’ll keep up for a while.  Already got enough rest for one night.”

“If you say so,” Bull said.

Krem’s smirk was an answer, a silent conclusion to the conversation.

Bull returned to Cora, and he sat down beside her.  “Get some sleep, imekari,” he told her.  “We’ll be heading out later today.  Madame Vivienne will be asking about you.”

“Okay, Tama…”  She settled deeper into the hay, then turned over and into herself.

And Bull’s mind spun wildly into reverse.

He’d put her in danger.  He was putting her in danger.  This would not be the last ambush.  Could be in a day, a week, a month - it didn’t matter.  He could only guess at the reason - information, probably.  There were things he knew that they probably needed.  They likely knew about his connection to Dorian, to Tevinter.  Less likely that they knew about their daughters, but one couldn’t be too careful.

And it was in that moment that Bull’s thoughts came echo-rattling back, hard-edged and heavy.

He hadn’t had words for that feeling, when Cora was in danger, but the words came now.

Our daughters.  Not his.  Our.  _My._

_My daughter was in danger._

This was not the anticipation of disappointment for the loss of an asset.  This was not a pain by association.  This was a pain like his own heart could be ripped from him.  Cora was his heart in more than name.  Ursula was his heart.  Like Dorian, but different.

To know a word was to understand, entirely, what it meant.

He had learned Love, with Dorian.  Love was irrational sacrifice and need, was trust and contradiction.  He could believe that he loved the girls because he felt all these things for them, as he felt them with Dorian.

This was not an amendment.  This was a new definition.

These were his daughters.  His children.  His blood.

The weight and the implications and the prospect of pain fell upon Bull in shivering waves.  He held his arms and tried to keep his breathing even. 

These were his daughters and they were in danger.  Cora he could physically protect, but Ursula’s safety existed only in belief, in trust.  Just as he could believe, could trust that the Qunari ambush was a fluke, a one-time thing, that he could keep this from happening again.

His breath escaped him in hard, squeezing exhales.  The edge of panic.

He’d felt this way before, in miniature, when the definition of Love came to him, when he realized that he loved Dorian.  Before the war had been called into being, before they’d had children together, when there was so much less to worry about - he’d worried about the trouble this feeling would cause.

Irrational, illogical, unnecessary - and who was to say that the feeling wasn’t mutual, that it was only a physical need, on Dorian’s end?  He had decided, then, that he would continue serving Dorian, and his needs.  Because he loved Dorian.  When the day came that Bull was no longer convenient, or could no longer serve Dorian, he would get out of the way.  No hurt feelings, no bruised emotions.  Bull couldn’t imagine being so selfish as demanding Dorian keep him when he was no longer needed.

His daughters were so much more than that.  His daughters were not unattached people with needs he could provide for practically.  There was an element of ownership, attachment with them. 

They were _his_ , and this _terrified_ him. 

It was not the expectation of responsibility, of care - that he could do, that he _had_ been doing.  It was the possibility that, if the girls could no longer be near him, if his presence put them in danger, if he became more than useless - _dangerous_ \- he would not be able to quit them.  They would not be able to get away from him.

(Worse, still, was the feeling that he wouldn’t be able to bring himself to leave them, if he needed to, if that was what was best for them.  That his love was a burden forced upon them by blood, one that they had no choice in.)

(Even as a hypothetical, Bull loathed himself for his selfishness.)

He loved his daughters to the point of pain, something that his love for Dorian never did.  It was oppressive, it was overwhelming, it was selfish.

And he couldn’t box it away.  He couldn’t do anything about it but let it _be_.

He missed Ursula.  He missed his imekari.  He missed his daughter.

Knowing the source of the pain, the rational reason, brought no relief to him.  He held himself, putting pressure on his chest, breathing with the intent of calming.

Ursula would be safe.  He would keep Cora safe.  He would not become a burden to them.  He would not let his presence, his love become a risk.  They would not be saarebas.  They were his daughters.

“Tama…?  You okay?”

Cora was sitting up in the hay pile beside him, rubbing her eye.  There was straw stuck to her hair, which was kinked where it had come out of her braids.

“Of - of course I’m okay, imekari.”  Bull exhaled, trying to make it sound like a laugh.  “Why, what’s wrong?”

“You sounded kind of freaked out, and…”  She squinted, and rubbed her eyes again.  “Tama, I’m _okay_.  Really.  I wasn’t hurt by those bandits.”

She took after him in so many ways.  Quiet, intuitive.  She walked dangerously close to his path, his past.

(No.  No.  She would never be a saarebas.)

“Tama, really, I’m fine…”  There was muted concern in her eyes.

“Cora, hey - come here a second,” Bull said.

“Uh… sure,” Cora said.  She uncurled herself, and shuffled over to sit next to him.

Bull reached over, and he picked her up, and he held her in his lap with both arms.

She was in his care.  She was safe.  His daughter.  His little heart.

“I’m okay, Tama,” she whispered, her head bent by his ear.  “I’m okay.”

He held her until he could believe her.

\--

They made safely it to the Office, and Vivienne’s estate, some days later.  Bull made a point of letting Dorian know as much as he could, as soon as he could.

“So I had an idea,” Bull said, speaking to the locket in front of him, in his room at the Office.  “A little surprise for you and the girls.”

“Ah?”  Dorian’s voice was almost a cleansing comfort, and his laughter even more-so.  “Whatever do you have in mind?”

“Remember that villa your family has, on the Nevarran border?” Bull said.  “You’ve asked before if we could meet there, and I’m thinking that we might be able to manage soon.”

“Are you serious?” Dorian said.  “I mean, I’d _love_ to do this, but - why do you think we can manage _now?_ ”

(It was safer than most other things Bull could think of.  It was secluded, a place of muddied borders.)

“Circumstances are lining up,” Bull said.  “It just seems doable, now.”

“Well, certainly, there doesn’t seem to be much conflict in that area…”

“I wouldn’t be suggesting it if I didn’t think it was possible, Dorian,” Bull said.  “I’m in no danger.  Honestly, I’m more concerned about you.”

“What, are you afraid that your frail little Magister is going to seed?” Dorian said.  “I assure you that I am in the _peak_ of health.”

“If you say so, kadan,” Bull said.  He paused just long enough to hear Dorian’s pity-laughter.  “Still, that sound like something you and Ursula want to do?”

“If you think it’s possible,” Dorian said.

“I do.”

“Then I’ll see about arranging for a meeting.  Find an opening in my schedule,” Dorian said.  “I’m sure I can manage at least a few days.”

“I trust you, kadan,” Bull said.  “You keep me informed.”

“You know I will.”

“Mm.”  Bull let his head rest more comfortably on his arms.  “We need this.  I mean, _damn_ , I miss you, but our girls could use some time with both of us.  All four of us.  Even if it’s just for a few days.”

“It would be wonderful,” Dorian said.

“Tama!  Supper’s ready!” Cora’s voice called, thin and distant, from the dining room down the hall.

“Ah, sounds like my cue.  I’ll talk to you again, soon,” Bull said.

“Do - try not to take too long,” Dorian said.

(Bull heard the stammer, but couldn’t place the reason, couldn’t ask why for lack of time.)

“I won’t, I won’t.  Bye, kadan.”

“Goodbye, amatus.”

Bull put his finger on the crystal, and let it go dark.

(And Dorian, hundreds of miles away, touched his hand to his mouth, struggling with a dazzling thought.)

(Bull had said “our girls.”)

(Two words, and all their implications, filled Dorian with an uneasy happiness for a good few hours after.)


	6. Jus Accrescendi

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _There will be no character death in this story._ If there was, I would have it tagged.

The group was initially identified as a slaver bringing in his quarry, at the border.  It was easy to see why the mistake had been made; they were led by a Tevinter man, and the rest of the company consisted of two elves - one ink-marked, one not - two humans, a dwarf, and a qunari.  None of them were shackled, but only the Tevinter seemed to have any authority - of course.

The checkpoint was well-armed, but the clerk at the border was cordial to him.  “Name, business, and papers, please,” he said, in a clipped, impartial manner.

“Captain Cremisius Aclassi, on behalf of the Bull’s Chargers mercenary company.”

The clerk looked up from the forms he was starting.  The captain had an almost boyish voice, for someone clearly in his 30’s.  “Mercenary company?”

“We are in the employ of House Pavus.”  Captain Aclassi produced a document with an ostentatious wax seal at its bottom. 

The clerk peered appraisingly at it.  “So you are,” he said, and handed it back.  “I assume your return to Tevinter is on behalf of the House, then?”

“You assume correctly,” Captain Aclassi replied.  “Magister Pavus has some important cargo he needs returned to him.”

“Mm.”  The clerk pushed a form across the desk.  “Declare the cargo here and I’ll let you through.”

The Captain did as he was told, filling the form with a rough, hurried hand.  His cargo, the qunari especially, stood restlessly behind him.

It was not the clerk’s job to judge.  A qunari was an odd choice for a slave, but there was documentation.  All was well, as far as he was concerned.

\--

“Magister Pavus?  You have guests in the foyer.”

The butler and his slight presence stood at the entrance of Dorian’s study.

Dorian, in his study, held his forehead with his hand, a headache-inducing pile of paperwork before him.  The Archon that the Magisterium had elected was an impossibly ineffective man, more concerned with shows of force and minutiae than actually getting anything done or changed.  The only thing he really seemed to be good for was being bland and inoffensive, hence his initial popularity.  Dorian’s party, the Lucerni, might as well have been screaming against a wall with their reforms.

Maevaris, at least, seemed to be gaining some supporters.  All Dorian got was letters, which preoccupied him now.

Still, guests had to be tended-to.  Though he hadn’t been expecting guests.  No matter.  “Tell them I’ll be with them shortly,” Dorian said.

“Of course, Magister.”  The butler melted back into the house, and out of sight.

Dorian took a moment to knead his temples, exhale, put his face on.  He then proceeded to the foyer.

And he saw Cora.

She was not alone, of course, but that was hardly Dorian’s focus.  He ran - more stumbled - to her, but stopped just short of holding her.  “Cora, what are you - what are you doing here?” he said.

(She was almost the same height as him.  The last time he saw her, she had to look up to talk to him.)

“Papa, I…” she began, before wrapping her arms, tightly, around him.  His shoulder became hot and damp with her tears.

“Cora, my darling, what’s the matter?”  Dorian’s words felt like a reflex.  His thoughts were tumbling through air, and he grasped uselessly for them.  “What happened?”

She just held him tighter.

Dorian looked for answers and found Krem, standing a few feet away.  He was in light armor, and had his hands clasped uneasily at his waist.  There were others behind him, the Chargers, people that he recognized.

Except for one.

“Cora, where’s your Tama?” Dorian said.

Cora dug her head into his shoulder more.  She was shivering.  “Papa, I’m sorry…”

Dorian held his daughter closer to him.  She wouldn’t see the fear on his face.

“Krem,” Dorian said, trying to keep his voice from shaking, “where is _Bull?_ ”

“Dorian, he’s… I’m sorry...” Krem began.

He didn’t have to say any more.  Dorian could read the news from the apprehension and grief on Krem’s face.

(Worst-case scenarios.  They called things like this worst-case scenarios.)

Dorian held Cora, for comfort, for fear that his knees were going to give out.

“What happened to him…?” he breathed, hating that he had to ask, had to know so soon.

“He was… he gave himself up to Qunari forces.  We were ambushed,” Krem said.  Dorian could hear the knot rising in his throat.  “He told me that we had to get Cora back to you by - any means.”

(Of course, there were always worse things that could happen.)

“Ambushed…?”

“His - life, for our safety,” Krem said.  “That’s what I managed to get, he was…”

“Papa, I’m _sorry…_ ” Cora cried, again, into her father’s shoulder.

Dorian slowly, steadily, fell to his knees, Cora still in his arms.  He inhaled, exhaled, but then let go of her.  He rose to his feet.

“Why didn’t you _stop him?!_ ”  The shiver in his voice turned into a scream, and he staggered towards Krem, his hands clenched over his chest.

“There was nothing we could do!” Krem said.

“Nothing you could _do?_ ” Dorian said.  “There is _always_ \- don’t _lie_ to me, what _happened?!_ ”

“They had us surrounded and the Chief said - he said that they could take him if they let us _go_ ,” Krem said.  “We were surrounded - they were going to take _Cora_ , for fuck’s sake!”

Cora was still on the floor.  She was hiccuping a little, her cries trailing off.

“They _had_ her.  The Chief made the call.”  Krem’s shoulders were rising and falling with temper.  “He chose her, he chose - _you_ over himself, you bloody…!”

Stitches stepped forward, suddenly, and he put his hand on Krem’s shoulder.  There was a plum-colored, shiny bruise under his left eye.  “It’s not your fault, Krem,” he said, in an impartial, tepid manner.  “The Chief made the call.”

Krem inhaled sharply.  “I’d have done something if I could.  I swear.  But this was…”

There was cold weakness in Dorian’s body.  His hands drifted, limp and curled, to his sides.  “You… you saw them kill him?” he said.

“What?” said Krem.

“Did you _see_ them kill him?” Dorian said.  His voice grew stronger.  “Or did they take him alive?”

“They didn’t… kill him while we were there,” Krem said.  “But they - Dorian, I don’t _know-_ ”

“He’s alive.  They said they were taking him for questioning.”  Cora’s voice was very, very quiet, almost a whisper.

“Cora, when - did you hear that?” Dorian said.

“They were speaking in Qunlat.  I was listening.”  She sniffed, and wiped at one of her eyes.  “They weren’t going to kill him.  They weren’t going to kill _me_.  We didn’t need to run…”

“That’s… really what they said, Cora?” Dorian said.

Cora sniffed again, this time a precursor to another sob.  “I’m sorry, Papa…  I didn’t mean for Tama to get taken… It’s my fault…”

“Oh, no, no, _mia mellia_ , don’t say that…”  Dorian lowered himself to her level, reaching for her hands.  “This can’t be your fault.  Your Tama… he knows what he’s doing, and… and he’s alive.  He’s alive.”

(Even though Dorian knew that some things could be worse than death.)

(Tranquility.  Qamek.)

(His daughter with her mouth sewn shut.)

“We’re going to fix this,” Dorian said, softly, holding his daughter to him again. “We’re going to make this better.”

Hope gathered poisonously in his chest.

\--

The world burned away to a clean, single purpose in Dorian’s mind, in the days after Cora’s return.

He was going to get Bull back.

He didn’t care how, or what he would have to sacrifice.  He had means.  He had money.  He had time.  Nothing else was important.  Nothing else mattered.

He sent letters to Varric, to Leliana, to Sera, for help, for information, for anything.

He had a sparse, empty-hallway sense of time passing, in between fits of work.  He’d receive messages.  People would bring him meals, which he couldn’t taste. 

He slept very little.  His bed had never felt so empty.

(Bunny, who normally slept at the foot of the bed, kept a nightly sort of vigil underneath it, her head wearily laid on her paws.)

Maevaris sent forth beams of assistance, light and sharp.  She passed on memos and missives from her protege, Calpernia, which went together in wary sync with Leliana’s information. 

(There were frameworks of agents in chantries, hinted details in the letters, but the facts weren’t bright enough for Dorian’s attention, not yet.)

Anything, anything about the Qun, the Qunari advance, on Tevinter, on Thedas, on anything.

He would find a lead.  He would find a lead and he would follow it.  And he would…

“Papa…?”

He woke at his desk.  Iron-scented ink was wet and cold on his palms.  Sleep made his vision blurry, and he blinked in the light.

Ursula was at the door.  “Papa, why aren’t you in bed…?” she said.

“Ah.  Must have… fallen asleep,” Dorian said.  He stretched in his chair, and his body creaked like wood.

“Papa, I’m worried about you,” Ursula said.  She approached him cautiously; he could see that she was holding a blanket in both hands.  “You need to sleep.”

“Now, now, dear,” Dorian said, the words slipping smoothly and mechanically out of his mouth.  “Work to be done.  Sometimes I lose track of time.”

Ursula put the blanket around his shoulders.  She led him with her arms behind his back - arms at his level, nearly his height - down the hallway to his chambers.

“ _Please_ get some sleep, Papa,” she said.  He was in bed, as she said this - must have set him down herself.  “You need to slow down.”

“Worry not,” Dorian told her, yawning and turning over.  “Worry not.”

(The fact that her twin was physically present, and able to comfort her more immediately, was not much of a balm to Ursula’s heart.)

(Not with her Tama gone.  Not with her Papa acting like this.)

The lead came with the sharp, painful suddenness of lightning.  It was in one of Leliana’s letters, though Calpernia was cited as a source.  There was a Qunari settlement in the Free Marches.  A peaceful one - which meant that they’d scared or converted .  The furthest commune from Rivaini.  The closest to the Imperium.

Dorian made plans to leave at once.  The Chargers would come with him.  They were in his employ.  Maevaris would take care of the girls.  Nobody would question his absence.

“Papa, slow _down_.”  Ursula’s hands on his - he’d been packing, throwing what felt right into a satchel.  “Why do you have to go _now?_ ”

“Can’t waste another moment.”  Dorian reached for another thing-for-packing.  “I’m going to get him back.  Don’t worry.”

“You don’t even know if he’s _there_ ,” Ursula said.  “You can stand to wait and make sure before you go - running off to the Free Marches, I’m _sure_.”

“Can’t waste another moment.  I can’t let this go on.”  Dorian was shaking his head.  “I need to find him.”

“Papa.”  Ursula’s hands on his arms, now, keeping them still.  She was only a girl, but she was so strong - when had she gotten so strong?  “ _Stop_.”

Dorian exhaled, and exhaled.  He tried to laugh, but what came out was only a shivering, desperate imitation.  “I don’t know what else to _do_ , imekari,” he said.  “Weeks.  Weeks, I have been waiting.  This is all I have.  I have to try.  He - he’d do the same for me, and…”

“Tama wouldn’t want to see you _hurting_ yourself like this, Papa,” Ursula said, anxiously.  “You’re hardly eating or sleeping.  You won’t even get very far if you keep this up…”

“I can - that, I can worry about later.  After I’ve found him,” Dorian said.  “Darling, I’m fine.”

“Papa… no.  Just… just give it a week, all right?” she said.  “If Tama’s really there… he’ll still be there a week later, right?”

“I don’t know,” Dorian said, shaking his head.  “I don’t know.  That’s why I have to hurry.”

He reached for another thing to pack, but Ursula took the satchel.

“One week, Papa,” she said.  “Please.”

(Her ears were drooping.  Damn it, her ears were drooping.)

“...very well, my girl,” Dorian said.  “If it would make you feel better.”

Ursula was not wearing a winner’s smile.  “Get in bed, and I’ll bring you some tea,” she said.  “And let me put this away.”

“Right, darling.”

Dorian flopped onto the bed.  His whole body ached with longing and hurt of all definitions. 

“One week, and he’ll still be there,” he told himself.  “You can give him one week.”

He somehow managed to sleep even less, distracted as he  was by Ursula’s care.

\--

“I have Cora’s locket.  Remember.”  Dorian took it out and touched it to illuminate it, briefly.  “I’ll keep in touch.”

Dorian was leaving the asylum he’d chosen for his girls: Maevaris’s summer home, in Orlais.  It was the closest, She’d already been hosting Ursula for week-long training excursions, and there was a room for her there.  Cora was only a slight addition.

“I won’t be long.  I’ll bring your Tama back,” he told them, laying hands on both of them, like a distant hug.  “I promise.”

“Papa… just be _careful_ ,” Cora said, putting both of her hands on his. 

“I will, darling, I will.”

“Talk to us _every_ day,” Ursula said.  She was frowning.  “And if this is a bad lead, you come _right_ home, okay?”

“I’ll - yes.  I’ll try.”

The three of them held each other for a long while, before the girls were pulled into Maevaris’s presence, her arms around them like an owl’s wings.

“You listen to that girl,” Krem said, after they had ridden some ways away.  “And if you don’t, I am.”

“I heard her, Krem,” Dorian said.

“No,” Krem replied.  “This turns out to be a hopeless case, and you don’t get out of it yourself?  I’m dragging you back home.”

“Yes.  Yes, that’s… fair.”

“I’m not gonna let those girls be orphans,” Krem said, lowly.

“Our girls.”  Dorian was whispering, holding the words to him like a prayer.  “They’re our girls.”


	7. Volenti Non Fit Injuria

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter features non-explicit depictions and discussion of torture.

When the Tal-Vashoth was captured, they took his weapons, and his clothing.  Animals did not need clothing, and until he could prove that he was not an animal, he would be treated as one.  His captors assured him that this was a generous definition, for most Tal-Vashoth were lower and more savage than animals.  A horse could be broken, a dog could be trained.

His food and water, also, were given to him in a bowl on the floor of his cage, whenever they stopped for rest.  Millet bread.  He would receive stew, meat, warm food, if he gave some indication of humanity and spoke.

The Ben-Hassrath asked him, in the language of the Qun, “You do not have to give us information.  All you need to do is speak.”

The Tal-Vashoth said nothing.

The Ben-Hassrath told him, “If you are in need of anything, just speak, and ask for it.  We will listen.”

Some time passed. They traveled without incident. 

At the compound, he was blindfolded and led to a stone cell.  It was a small room.  The writings of Koslun were carved on the walls.

They left him with himself.

The Tal-Vashoth said nothing.

His captors visited him sparingly, aiming at him with solitude and starvation instead of needles and knives.  Time, alone, with nothing to contemplate but his misery and the writings of the enlightened, would loosen him.

There was no window in his cell.  The room was always lit, and they woke him at uneven intervals.  He would not be able to count the days.  The soft hand, this approach was called. 

The Tal-Vashoth said nothing.

He was then provided counsel.  A Tamassran was sent to his cell.

As she entered, she identified him: “Male, born year five-fifty-one after-revelation.  Designated zero-one-forty-six-thirty-three-seventy-three-zero-nine-thirteen.  Tal-Vashoth.  While in Orlais, you traveled under the name of The Iron Bull.  While in Seheron, you were assigned the title of Ben-Hassrath, then Hissrad.  While under my care, you were Imekari.”

The Tal-Vashoth looked up.  Time had weathered her face, but he recognized her.

She said, “But I, alone, called you Ashkaari.”

The Tal-Vashoth said, “Tama.”

The Tamassran’s expression was equal parts pity and disappointment.  She said, “It hurts my heart to see you like this.  So far from your path.”

The Tal-Vashoth hung his head.  He kept his hands in his lap, kneeling, respectfully, before her. 

She continued, “I am here to offer you counsel.”

The Tal-Vashoth said, “You came all the way from Par Vollen just for that?”

She said, “Oh, no, no.  I have been here a while.”

She was old.  Her value to the Qun was in what she could teach, not in what her body could provide.  She could have been far away from here, away from settlements and soldiers.

She said, “It was determined that my skills would be put to best use in new communities.  The reasoning is sound and I am content in my work.”

The Tal-Vashoth said, “I see.  You were asked to speak to me.”

She sat down across from him, her movements stiff with age.  She said, “Yes.  To counsel you.”

The Tal-Vashoth breathed in, and out.  He was not alone.  He said, “I will listen.”

She said, “You know why you are here.  There are things that you know about Tevinter.  Ways in that are available to you.  This information would benefit the Qun immensely.”

“Yes.”

“And yet you do not share it.”

The Tal-Vashoth said nothing.

“Do you do this out of protection for your imekari?”

He looked up, at this.  Her face was still and stonelike.

“There have been reports.  Observations made in passing.  There are two females you were raising.  They call you Tamassran.”

The Tal-Vashoth said nothing.

She continued, “Curious, but not surprising. You were considered for Tamassran in your youth.  Your strength kept you from that path.  It was too valuable.”

The Tal-Vashoth said, “I follow no path but my own, Tamassran.”

She replied, “Yes, Ashkaari.  You always have.  By all accounts, the path those imekari have given you is one that you walk very well.  This also means that I may advise you from a place of deeper understanding.”

The Tal-Vashoth asked, “What advice do you give me, Tamassran?”

The Tamassran’s words were measured and heavy.  She said, “I know, intimately, what you must be feeling in this moment.  I have lost many of my imekari.  Found them in places where I could not help them.  There is a pain deeper than that.”

The Tal-Vashoth asked, “Is that the pain I am feeling now, then?”

She replied, “Perhaps. I am thinking of the pain of knowing one’s own offspring.”

(A sensation like a wrung towel seized his stomach.  Our girls.  His girls.)

The Tamassran, in her wisdom, noticed his discomfort.

She said, “I have, myself, given birth.  Though their care was handled by other tamassrans, I was aware of my offspring’s presence.  I felt attachment to them, an attachment that I did not feel with my other imekari.  This brought me both great joy and agony.”

The Tal-Vashoth made himself small in her presence.

She continued, “I did not let this get in the way of my duties.  Where they became obtrusive, I suppressed them.  The demands of the Qun outweigh the emotions of the individual.  But - you are Tal-Vashoth.  You reject the Qun, and, therefore, there is no need to brush such things aside.  I cannot imagine if the pain is greater or lesser for that.”

The Tal-Vashoth said nothing.

She said, “What I can imagine is your desire to protect them.  Caring for them is your path.  This, then, you must understand.  As their Tamassran, you must realize that what you are doing is not protecting them.”

The Tal-Vashoth said nothing.

She continued, “One of your imekari is out of your reach.  The companion you so wisely abandoned took her from you.  She will not be protected with your silence.  You ensured the safety of the other when you returned yourself to the Qun.  Your silence benefits nobody.”

She told him, “Your cooperation benefits the Qun.  The Qun will look after you.  You do not need to remain here.”

The Tal-Vashoth said nothing.

She told him, “Speak, Ashkaari, and be freed.  I will see you brought back to where you are needed.”

The Tal-Vashoth said, “I thank you for your counsel, Tamassran.”

The Tamassran said nothing more.

After thinking this over for a time, she advised the Ben-Hassrath, “He will not speak.  See that he is transferred to another community.  I will accompany him for further counsel so that his reeducation will prove more successful.

The Ben-Hassrath said, “I thank you for your counsel, Tamassran.”

It was decided, then, that the soft hand would no longer be used.

The Tal-Vashoth had information, and if he sought relief, he would give it to them.

(Bull would never let them in.)

(He was building walls in his mind, strengthening his resolve.)

(For their girls.  His daughters.)

Only then would he be shown the mercy of the Qun. 


	8. In Loco Parentis

It took less than a week for Ursula and Cordula to decide that they were going to rescue their fathers.  They came to this conclusion independently, though Ursula and her loud, golden heart brought up the issue first.

“Papa doesn’t know what he’s doing,” she confided to her sister, in Maevaris’s library one afternoon.  They were sitting across from each other on a window-seat, “He finds out about _one_ Qunari settlement and he decides Tama’s there.  What if he _isn’t?_   ...Cora, are you _listening_ to me?”

Cora had been withdrawn, in the days since coming back to the Minrathous Pavus estate, spending most of her time in bed sleeping, or something close to it.  Being moved to Maevaris’s estate hadn’t helped matters.  She listened to her sister with half-closed eyes.  “Mm?”

“Papa’s not gonna find Tama at that compound,” Ursula said.  “There’s just no way.”

“Well, there might be a way,” Cora said.

“What, in the ‘nothing is impossible’ way, or…?”

“If you know how to track them, you can always find someone,” Cora said.  “You just need the means of tracking.”

Ursula’s face creased with worry.  Her Papa wasn’t sleeping, and sleeping too _much_ had Cora in a weird sort of haze all the time.  “Well, I mean, I dunno if we can train Bunny to track people down…” she attempted.

Cora shook her head.  “No, we couldn’t.  There’s a better way, though.”

“And… that way is?”

“Hello!”

Ursula hadn’t properly heard that voice in years.  In dreams, maybe, but not in person.

“Cole!” she said, a wide, irrational smile on her face.  “What are you…?”

“Tama doesn’t dream,” Cora said, not quite interrupting.  “I can’t find him in the Fade like I can with you or Papa.  But… Cole can.”

“Since when could you find Papa-”  Ursula shook her head, shaking the strange new fact out of the conversation.  “Never mind!  Cole knows where Tama is?”

Cole stood next to them with his head bent at an odd angle, a listening angle.  “Faint, and fading, he hides where it’s harder to hear,” Cole said.  “But… yes, I can feel his hurt.  I can find him.”

Ursula’s head felt hollow, reeling with an overwhelming mix of excitement and dread.  (What did _fading_ mean?)  She chased reason.  “How did you know we were looking for him?”

“I was… looking for him first, actually…” Cora said.  “I thought, maybe, if I looked in the Fade hard enough, I’d be able to… I don’t know, find someone who _could_ dream that had seen Tama and where they took him, or a spirit, but…”

“Is… is that why you’ve been sleeping so much…?” Ursula said, softly.

“Yeah…”  There was a tiny squirm of shame in Cora’s voice.

Ursula took her hands.  “You haven’t been making yourself _sick_ , have you?”

“No!  No, I just… took valerian root…”

Ursula sighed.  “But Cole found you?”

“Yeah, he… found me searching and offered to help,” Cora said.

“So, you’re gonna stop that.  You sleep like a normal person, now.”  Ursula was not making requests.  “Got it?”

“I got it, Ursa…”

Ursula did not hesitate to lean forward and hug her sister right then and there.  “ _Tell_ me if you’re doing stuff like this, okay?  Even if I can’t help.  I know I’m no good with Fade stuff, but…”

“I’ll tell you.  I promise.”

What followed was figuring out the means by which they would get out of Orlais and get their parents to safety.  Ursula could travel without much bother, but Cora posed a problem.  Dorian had insisted on her staying out of sight as soon as she’d gotten back to the house, and with her sleeping, this wasn’t hard to enforce.  Leaving the house, much less traveling at all, was another matter entirely.  They'd only managed to get to Maevaris's place in covered carriages and innovative uses of scarves.

“I think I might have a way out,” Ursula said.

“Connections?” Cora said.

“Friends.”  Ursula’s smile was a well-borrowed one.

She sent out some messages, innocuous but random, to a few companies - shipping, fishing, a milliner.  And eventually an answer came back.

_Young Mistress Pavus,_

_We are pleased to confirm a shipment of silk bolts to your present residence in Orlais, courtesy of Magister Tilani.  Payment has been received and processed, and you should expect their arrival within a fortnight._

_We are gracious, as always, for your business._

_Sincerely,  
Deny Rejen_

There was a scrawl beneath it in sepia-colored ink.

_Dads in trouble is big trouble._

_Good on you for not taking shite lying down._

_On my way to you.  Auntie W sends her love._

There was a doodle of a frowning mustachioed man and a sad-looking qunari man beneath, and two qunari girls being led to them by an arrow.

Ursula grinned, upon reading this.  Auntie Sera was in their corner.

All that was left was the planning.  Preparation, mostly, since a goal without a hard plan was more likely to succeed.  They had time.

Unfortunately, time meant waiting, and waiting meant lapses in judgment and patience.

And, one evening, as they were talking over a candle in the midnight-silent library, Maevaris discovered them.

She made her presence known subtly, just a clearing of the throat.  Her arms were crossed, but her body language was hardly confrontational.  “And what are you two doing out of bed at this hour?” she said.

“Er, just…” Ursula had nothing to say.

“Couldn’t sleep,” Cora said.  She kept her eyes down.  “Ursula was keeping me company.”

“Really?” Maevaris said.  “Not planning any daring escapes, are you?”

This time, Cora was without a response as well.

A kind, but sighing smile graced Maevaris’s face.  “Even if you’d been able to keep the evidence from me,” she said, “you are _still_ your father’s daughters.  If he were in your place, he’d be planning some sort of rescue as well.  Ha.  Well, he already _has_ , hasn’t he?”

The girls remained frozen over their candle.

“I’m not going to _stop_ you,” Maevaris continued.  “If there’s anything I know about your family, it’s that you’re stubborn to a _fault_.  And far too talented to be convinced otherwise.  At least allow me to help you a little?”

There was a stuck and awkward silence.

“Oh, come, now.  Let’s all of us go to the kitchen for some tea, and we’ll talk this over.”  Maevaris extended a welcoming hand and a warm smile.  “Hm?”

She really had no intention of stopping them.  Rather, if they were going to go through with it, she wanted to see it well-done, and succeed.

So when a shipping convoy arrived at the Tilani summer home, nobody thought twice about the convoy departing with no small amount of Tevinter goods for trade, elsewhere.  Stashed among them were two Pavus children, covered and unnoticed, with Maevaris’s assistance.  She didn’t report them as missing in the slightest.

“We’re fine, Papa,” Ursula assured him, with the crystal, when the convoy and its employees had stopped at an inn one night.  “We miss you.  Can’t wait to see you again.”

“The feeling is mutual, my darlings,” Dorian replied, thinking nothing of the words.

Sera took them in, once they’d gotten a fair distance away.  Or, rather, she intercepted them before they could pass another checkpoint, taking the girls and some choice bolts of fabric with her as she and some of her Friends raided the convoy.

“Left ‘em enough for a profit.  Overchargin’ that stuff, anyways,” she explained.

All that was before them was getting to the compound.  It was the same compound that Dorian’s lead had given him, but now they knew for sure.  And they were going to help.  They all were.

\--

“Hey, er, uh, greetings, Brother.”

The elf was not of the Dales, her face bare.  Her yellow hair looked like it had been cut herself, uneven bangs and short on the sides, long in the back.  She looked nervous, uncertain.

She had two juveniles with her.  Female.  One of them had horns.

“Greetings, Sister,” the guard Sten replied.  Even if she was not Viddathari, she had the good sense to show respect.  “What brings you to us?”

“I have, er, two of your little’uns, I think,” she said.  “They don’t talk much, so I don’t know what’s up with ‘em, but they don’t seem to belong to anyone else.”

The Sten looked over them for a moment, letting the silence make a statement.  “Where did you find these two?”

“Venatori slavers.”  The elf spat, seemingly for good measure.  “Hate seein’ anything in cages like that.  Heard you were nearby, thought I’d see if they were missing from you.”

The Sten said, in the language of their people, “You are unfamiliar to me.  Where have you come from?”

The horned one replied, in kind, “I cannot find my Papa.  I am scared.”

The Sten was familiar with the word.  She had been raised by Tal-Vashoth, then.

“We will take them in,” the Sten told the elf.  “Do you require recompense for this favor?”

“Nah.  Just want ‘em off my hands,” the elf replied.  “No offense to you, ‘course, but it’s not exactly good news to be out and about with your type.  Don’t wanna be mistaken for a buncha slaves.”

“As you say,” the Sten said.  He told the imekari, “Come to my side, and I will see you cared for.”

The horned one asked, “Will you help us find our Papa?”

The Sten said, “We will care for you here.”

“Right.  Er, tide rises and falls and all that.”  The elf scratched the back of her leg with her foot.  “Now, if you don’t mind, I’m gonna get out of here, yeah?”

“As you wish,” the Sten said. 

“Yeah.”  And, with that, the elf departed.

The Sten extended his hand to the two young ones.  He said, “Are you hungry?  We will get you food.”

The horned one looked hesitant.  She held the hand of the silent, hornless other.  She said, “Yes.”

\--

The two imekari were not of the Qun.  This was determined early.  Though they spoke Qunlat fluently - the horned one was more talkative than the other - they showed little familiarity with obvious rituals and manners.  They were, however, still fairly young.  Near the Age of Assignment.  They would be easily-assimilated.

A Tamassran was quickly contacted and assigned to their care.

(The first thing the girls noticed about her - Cora, more than Ursula - was how very much her horns resembled Vivienne’s favorite hennin, gently-curved and spiraling skyward.)

She told them, in receiving them, “No need to be afraid, little ones.  Everything will be fine.”

She tested them from that moment on, as was her path and duty.

Their story was almost a fable, illustrating exactly why their people needed the Qun.  Their Tal-Vashoth family - a Papa and a Tama, they informed her, with many others besides - were violent and warlike, plying their trade as mercenaries.  There had been a battle, a conflict of some sort, and the ones that were too young or weak to fight back had been captured and enslaved by the Tevinter forces that had overwhelmed them.  Had it not been for the sympathetic elf-woman, they’d likely be in chains.  What a shame it all was, that these young creatures full of potential had nearly been kept from it by the uncivilized and cruel.

The story was told, largely, by the horned one.  What few interjections made by the hornless one were faintly brassy with Rivaini influence.  This was a curious observation, but not yet anything worth noting.  No, not yet.

They were set in the dormitory with the rest of the imekari at the compound, that evening, after having their ragged clothes replaced with properly-fitting garments that took horns into account.  They were allowed to keep the small fangs strung around their necks with cord.  There were no possessions, under the Qun, but trinkets were inconsequential things.  There would be further tests, later.

The Tamassran consulted reports and write-ups, as the evening proceeded.  Testing theories.  Confirming facts.

(Against all rationality, she held to certain beliefs.)

(But the children looked so much like her Ashkaari.)

\--

“Do you think they suspect we’re mages?” Ursula asked, in her shared dream with her sister that evening.  “I mean, we left our staffs with Aunt Mae, but....”

“So long as we don’t freak out and turn into demons, I think we’re fine,” Cora replied.

“Ha.  Very reassuring.”  Ursula held her knees in the Fade-space and stared gloomily at her feet.

“It’s not like we’re little kids, Ursa,” Cora continued.  “We don’t need our staffs to hold magic in place for us.”

“Yeah…”  Ursula sighed, and fidgeted.  “We need to focus on finding Tama, now.  And Papa, if he’s anywhere near here.”

“I can work on that,” Cora said.  “Cole will get me when it’s safe.”

(Though he had been strangely absent, this absence was almost a comfort, an all-clear-all’s-well signal.)

“Yeah, yeah, I know.”

“I’m sure there’s stuff you can do too, Ursa…” Cora said.  “Like, Tama doesn’t dream, so it’s probably up to you to find out where they’re keeping him here.”

“Like… how?  That old lady-Tama was watching us like a hawk all _day_.”

“She could let up.  And, besides, you’re better at magic than me.  Papa taught you how to use Fade Step, didn’t he?” Cora said.  “You could sneak around.”

(And as far as she was concerned, she wasn’t lying.  Ursula was the one receiving the proper education, the one that could command light and fire as easily as song or strength.)

(All she knew how to do was enter the Fade way too easily.  That was hardly useful.)

“Yeah, maybe…” Ursula said.

“We’ll work it out,” Cora said. 

\--

Some nights later, the Tamassran received the information she needed, and she acted upon this both swiftly and with conviction.

The Tamassran took the two new Imekari on an excursion, the following day.  A test, she explained to her sisters and superiors.  She wanted to observe them.

The Imekari were obedient and followed her, holding each other’s hands as they went.  They were still scared, perhaps rightfully so.  Especially when they had been wandering for quite some time.

The horned one asked her, eventually, “Tamassran, is there a place you are taking us?”

The Tamassran answered, “Yes.”

The Tamassran instructed them to tread quietly, in the forest, for them not to disturb whatever had settled there.  This was, perhaps, a hunting, an observing exercise.

(In a way, it was.)

And they walked out into a clearing, where a camp was set up.  Just like that.

Of all people, Cole was there, bent in conversation.  He looked up and smiled at their entrance.  “See? They’re here to help!” he said.

He’d been talking to Dorian.  Dorian looked about as surprised as his daughters were.  Everyone else drew weapons, but did not charge, too shocked and without leadership for action.

“I suppose this means our arrival was anticipated,” the Tamassran said, using the king’s tongue.

“Papa!” Ursula said.

“I - what - what are you doing - what is the meaning of this?!” Dorian sputtered.

“How did you…?” Cora said, looking up at the Tamassran.  She was wearing a gentle smile.

“The intel I received stated there was a non-hostile collection of mercenaries camped a day’s journey from our compound.  They were amicable with Sten in the area and did not engage in combat with them,” the Tamassran replied.  “From the races and numbers, I speculated that you might possibly be whom I needed to find.”

There was a dazed silence.

“I am here to _help_ you, Dorian Pavus,” she said, warmly, patiently, with a well-practiced tone.

Dorian cleared his throat.  “I can only assume you know my name because of some manner of spying, yes?” he said, his voice still tight and unbecoming.

“Yes.  That, and you and I are both invested in the well-being of a particular Tal-Vashoth,” the Tamassran replied.  “The Tamassran of these two Imekari, if I am not mistaken.”

“You know who our Tama is?” Ursula said, genuinely curious.

“What was the name… Iron Bull, or something to that effect?” the Tamassran said.

“That’s Tama!” Ursula said.

“How - how do you know who he is…?”  Dorian’s voice was soft, weak, reaching.

“He was once my Imekari,” the Tamassran said.  She lowered her eyes, a smile carrying many shades of sadness and fondness on her lips.  “And I believe that he is once again in need of my care.”

“So you’re Tama’s Tama!” Ursula said.

“Yes, Imekari, that would be correct,” the Tamassran said.

Dueling expressions of joy and surprise mingled on Ursula and Cora’s faces, Cora touching her mouth with her fingers.

“Never thought you’d meet the in-laws like this, eh, Pavus?” Krem said, breaking the crust of silence with a verbal dig to the ribs.

Dorian, however, might as well have been wearing armor on his heart.  A ragged, desperate hope filled his eyes.  “Do you know where he is…?”

“Yes.  And I intend to help you get him out.”

“But - why would _you_ want to…” Dorian began.

“it is written that the role of the Tamassran is to observe, assign, and guide their Imekari into the roles that they must serve,” the Tamassran said.  “What is unwritten is that… sometimes, an Imekari is best suited for life outside the Qun.  And in those times, a Tamassran cannot act.”

“Which… means you let them leave the Qun, if they go?” Cora said.  “By doing nothing, I mean.”

(The Tamassran smiled.  The girl had shown an affinity for doublespeak, in saturating a phrase with many meanings.)

“And, on occasion, finding those who can aid them in their departure,” the Tamassran said.  “Which brings me here, now.”

“Searching, scouring scrolls, records, reaching, while they wrench the truth from him.”  Cole’s words were almost frantic, quick as heartbeats.  “I heard the hurt.  I came to her.  She listened.”

“Much as I don’t understand him, but, yes.  I listened, when he came,” the Tamassran said.  “With my suspicions confirmed, there was no reason not to act.”

“So how do you intend on getting the Chief out, then?” Krem said.

“Carefully,” the Tamassran replied.

\--

“You two,” Dorian said, “are in _unspeakable_ amounts of trouble.”

He hugged his daughters tightly, after that, as if keeping them close in that moment would prevent them from leaving.

(His little girls.  His little girls were almost his size.)

“We’re sorry, Papa, it’s just…” Ursula started.

“We just knew that you didn’t really know what you were doing,” Cora finished.  “So we… got help.”

“And you could very well have sent them after me instead of coming yourselves!” Dorian said.  He sighed severely.  “When we are back home, I will not allow you to leave the house until you are…”  A dry mouth ate his words, and he cleared his throat.  “Until you are much older.”

“Papa, we really _are_ sorry…” Ursula said.

“If something were to have _happened_ to you…!” Dorian said.  “All alone out there.”

“Auntie Sera helped, though!  And her Friends,” Ursula said.

There was an attempt at a laugh on Dorian’s end.  “Did she.  Of course she did.”

“She made sure we were safe the entire way over, Papa,” Ursula said.  Her voice rose and fell in a smooth pattern of argument.  “And nobody in the Qunari town-place thinks we’re anyone or with anyone or anything.”

“Truly, if I hadn’t been given a lead from that strange boy,” the Tamassran added, from where she observed them, “I would have ignored my instincts and processed them as any other fostered Imekari.”

“Would - would you have assigned them roles in the Qun, then?”  There was a gentle shiver, not quite horror, not quite revulsion, in Dorian’s voice.  He kept his arms on his daughters.  “Sewn their mouths shut?”

“I doubt they would have let anyone get that far,” the Tamassran replied.  “Of all the skills I observed in them, magic hardly crossed my mind.  Evasion certainly did, however.  They remind me very much of Ashkaari.”

“Ashkaari?”

(The name brushed the back of Dorian’s mind with uncertain fingers.)

“Ah, my apologies,” the Tamassran said.  “The Iron Bull.  The… one with whom you raised these Imekari.”

“Ah…”

“I very clearly see how much you care for each other,” the Tamassran continued, steadily, but with a gloss of apology on her stiff words.  “I simply… lack the words to describe what your relationship to him _is_.”

“He… calls me Kadan,” Dorian said, softly.

The Tamassran’s smile was warm, understanding.  “Ah.  So you are.”

\--

The Tamassran returned the Imekari to the compound the next day, after they made camp in the night.  She drafted her reports efficiently, and turned them in, detailing her observations in the horned one’s eye for animals that hid themselves, and the bare-headed one’s swiftness in running.  Further data for their assignments, naturally.

She saw to the progress of the captured Tal-Vashoth, the once-Hissrad, and what information he had given.

Through it all, he maintained a defiant silence.  But his body was beginning to fail him, to wither, from hunger, from poison, from time.

The Tamassran advised, “He will not yield, and will soon be rendered unusable.  Allow me to nurse his wounds and see him relocated and re-educated in a more established community.”

The Ben-Hassrath replied, “We thank you for your counsel, Tamassran.”

She returned to her duties, and waited for them to cede to her request.

(She persisted, she _would_ persist, as ceaseless as a tide against rock.  This was her path, and duty, and she would push forward and forward until her duty to him, to her name,  was fulfilled.)

(Kadan was an inadequate word for what she knew kept him intact.)

(But so, too, was Ashkaari for her own heart.)


	9. Restitutio in Integrum

He could not count the days and nights, but he knew they had been holding him for some months now. 

He knew this because he was tired.  He knew this because he knew his training.  He knew this because he was losing his capacity for use.

They asked questions of him that he had no answers for.  They spoke of Tevinter magisters, of pathways and connections, of names.  The words began to lose meaning, the more they asked, the longer he answered with silence, finding no recognition in them.  Sometimes the questions would change.  Sometimes the information would change.  The truth they presented to him was an inconstant, fluid thing, and he had no means of leashing it.

Then, a day came when he realized the futility of it.  They would not release him - where would he go?  If he answered as they wanted him to, if he gave them answers that he knew, or felt, they wanted to hear, even if the answers were well-crafted lies - where was there for him to go? 

There was only one way out of suffering.

He spoke.  His speaking had been prompted by counsel, and time, and revelation.  When they next came for him, to speak-with-interrogate him, he spoke.  He spoke only truth, and he spoke softly.

He said, “I know nothing that the Qun does not already know, or would find useful.  I acknowledge my ignorance, and I submit myself for reeducation.”

He spoke truth: he knew no secret paths into Tevinter, no hidden connections, and he did not know why they thought he did.  All other things were superfluous, already fading from his mind for lack of use.

He spoke softly: he was weak, hungry for sleep and for food.  He bowed before his captors in respect to them.

He knew that they knew him. He knew that they knew his limits.

They left him.  His next visitor was a Tamassran.  His Tamassran.

She told him, as she bathed his skin with a water-soaked cloth, “You are to be relocated.  The Qun has called for your rehabilitation.”

He replied, “I am grateful to the Qun for their judgment.”

She tended to him carefully, gently.  She said, “You must be made ready for travel, first.”

They transferred him to a cell with a window.  Natural light.  Access to the flow of time.

The elderly Tamassran nursed him dutifully, reacclimating him to food, comfortable sleep.  He, indeed, found comfort in how the Qun provided for him through her care.  He found comfort in his meager strength returning, and the prospect of, once again, having purpose and usefulness.

Little information was given to him about where he would be taken, and he had no quarrel with that.  Those that knew more than him had his fate decided, and he was secure in their judgment.

Still, some things he could not help but wonder at.  Before his relocation, his Tamassran told him, “Whatever you see, wherever you go, and whomever travels with us, you must keep to your silence.”

He replied, “I understand, Tamassran.”

He did not understand why his silence was necessary, not when it was accepted that he had no more information to give.  This, however, was not a lie.  He understood that she knew more than him, had more purpose in her orders.

When the day of travel arrived, she was there when the Sten escorted him from his cell.  They did not travel alone; a handful of wretched candidates for reeducation went with them, as well as those who were deemed best-suited for transplant into another community, and two Imekari.  The Tamassran explained to him, as they were preparing to leave, that they were Tal-Vashoth-born, and needed a more proper environment than this for their upbringing.

The Imekari regarded him with wary, outsider’s eyes.  He kept his gaze from them.

In the company of four Sten for protection, they began on their way.  They could have been traveling to Par Vollen, or Rivain, and he would be none the wiser.  But he trusted the path that had been chosen for him.

Two days out, the Tamassran took him to a river to bathe him and tend to any other needs he might have had.  The Sten tended to the rest of the party back at their camp.

A strange sort of urgency had settled into the Tamassran’s movements, he noticed, and her gaze wandered here and there, searching for something he could not find or see. 

Then, the Imekari came.  They were holding hands, apprehension on their faces as they emerged from the forest and approached them at the riverbank.

The Tamassran said, “Ah, there you are.  What did you tell the Sten?”

Of the two, the horned one said, “That we needed to relieve ourselves and would look for you, the Tamassran.”

The Tamassran said, “Very good.  You made contact last night?”

The horned one said, “Yes.  They are not far.”

The Tamassran said, “And all is clear?”

The horned one said, “Yes.  Cole - er, the strange boy - he has already searched ahead and informed them of our arrival.”

“Good.  If that creature is certain of our safety, then we no longer need this artifice.”  The Tamassran, for some reason, began speaking in the language of those outside the Qun.  “You have done very well, girls.”

“Thank you, Tamassran,” the horned one said.  And, continuing in the strangeness of the day, she addressed him directly with distress and relief on her face.  “Tama,” she said, “I’m so sorry we took so long…”

The Tamassran did not respond, though he was certain she was being spoken to.  There were no other Tamassrans present.

“Tama, what’s wrong…?” the Imekari continued.

“He is fatigued, Imekari.  We must away, quickly,” the Tamassran said.

“Understood, Tamassran,” the horned one said.  The hornless Imekari, silent and sullen, held the other’s hand in a hard grip.

His body felt stiff and strange, confusion stitched in his brow.  His Tamassran’s order burned like a brand at the front of everything: _Maintain your silence._ He did so.  This diversion was of her doing, and certainly for the benefit of those in her care.

They traveled on in silence, the riverbank as their trail.  The Imekari trailed near him like small birds following in a larger bird’s wake.

Then, ahead of them: a lantern in the near distance, throwing light through the blue darkness.

“There they are!” the horned one said, letting go of the other’s hand.  “I’ll signal them.”

Green fire burst forth from her hands, there and gone, a flash-signal.  Ahead of them, in response: an identical flare.

“They’ll be getting the caravan ready,” the horned one said.  “You’re sure the others didn’t want to come, Tamassran?”

He said, with the cold, impartiality of fact, “Saarebas.”

“What?” said the Imekari.

He said, “Tamassran, that one is a Saarebas.  What is it doing unbound?  Were you unaware?”

He did not understand the silence that followed.

“Ashkaari… they are not Saarebas,” the Tamassran said.  She sounded disappointed.  Why did she sound disappointed?

And, further: Thinker.  That was not his title.  He did not yet have a purpose.  He was only a Thing.  A Bas.

These creatures were more dangerous.  He said, “Do you not intend on alerting the Sten?”

“Tama, what’s _wrong_ with you...?” the horned one said.

He looked at it, this thing that was lower than even him, and said, “Ime-Saarebas, be silent.”

The Ime-Saarebas had such a look of fear in its eyes.  The hornless, untarnished one looked to the distance with the frantic movements of a hunted animal.

There were running footsteps approaching, coming from the direction of the lantern.  From the size: two humans.  One had a staff.  Bas-Saarebas.

He said, “Tamassran, alert the Sten.”

“Bull!”

One of the humans cried out, now close enough to see, even in the deepening twilight.  Brown skin, features like warships and statues.  The clothing, as well, marked them: Tevinter.

“Vashedan…!”  He was unarmed, weak, but he was not without options.  He stood between them and the Tamassran, and felt the inelegant, rock-clumsy words forming in his mouth.  “You will come no closer, _Bas_.”

They halted their advance.  He could see their faces, now, clearly.  A man and - no, women did not present themselves that way, even as warriors.  They were both travel-worn, pathetic to behold.  The warrior had maintained some semblance of grooming, but the one with the staff had long, unwashed hair streaked thoroughly with gray, and a mustache nearly lost in a thicket of stubble.

“Papa!” the horned one called, though her cry was hushed.  “Be careful, they might…!”

“Ime-saarebas, stay right where you are,” he growled, interrupting in its language, so it might better listen, understand. 

“Bull…?”  The mage’s voice was weak, shivering.  He took one step closer.  “Bull, what’s the matter…?”

“Take one step further, _Bas_ , and I will rip your limbs from your body,” he said, meaning every word.  “You will not harm my kind.”

“T-Tamassran, what’s - what’s _wrong_ with him...?” the mage continued.

He felt the touch of the Tamassran’s hands on his arms, behind him.  She told him, “Ashkaari, you are _safe_.  There is no need to continue this act.”

He replied, “What act are you referring to?  I do not understand.”  He kept his stance, his body stiff and still, defending her.

“Chief, hey, snap out of it…” the warrior attempted, weakly.

“Bull, it’s… it’s me, it’s…”  The mage continued, inexplicably, in Qunlat, “I am your Kadan.”

He could not think of any person, any name with such a title as his heart, much less this ragged, Tevene barbarian.  “Get away from me, you filthy _Bas_ ,” he said.  “You are nowhere _near_ my heart.”

“Tama, _stop_ it!  What’s wrong with you?”

The voice was young, small, just-unfamiliar.  It belonged to the hornless one, stepping away from the other Imekari.  Her eyes were sticky with tears, and she took several uncertain steps toward him.

“That’s… that’s Papa, don’t you recognize him?  That’s really him, and me, I’m here too,” she said.  She stood in front of him and held one of his hands with both of her small, brown ones.  “Tama, please…”

She was calling him Tama.  That was - it was a name he carried, had carried, in an unnecessary, drifting time, but…

“What did they do to him?” the mage was saying.  His voice was climbing towards some desperate height.  “Some - manner of brainwashing?  Torture?  _Qamek?_ What did they _do_ to him?”

“Tama, it’s us, come on...  You’re okay now, we’re going to take you home…”

The hornless one was closer to him, now, holding his hand to her face.  She was closing her eyes.

Her scent reached his nose.  Sandalwood, jasmine.

And in that moment, all that he had sealed off, set back for ease and safety and for them.

He pulled away from her with a sudden, startled motion, nearly stumbling to the ground.  The Tamassran half-caught him, keeping him standing.

He heard many of his names at once - Bull - Chief - Tama.

“Ursula, get away from me…!” he said, in an urgent whisper.

“Tama…?” Ursula said.

“Get away from me, quickly…!” Bull said.  He made an attempt at leaving the Tamassran’s hold.  “I don’t want to hurt you…!”

The Tamassran, her old hands still firm and strong, said, “Ashkaari, calm yourself.  You are safe.  You will harm no one.”

“No.  No, no, no.  I - I couldn’t recognize - I didn’t know who…!”  He was gasping for air, reaching for memories.  Memories - Cordula’s smile as she presented him a fistful of flowers, Ursula’s eager eyes as she listened to her father reading her a story, the look of joy and amazement on Dorian’s face when he’d told him that Stitches had found a heartbeat - they seemed so immaterial now, so capable of slipping through the fingers of his mind, for him to lose again.

The Tamassran said, “Calm, Ashkaari, calm.  Let it pass.”

He shook his head, the words coming quickly in the tongue of his youth, “No, no, I am - I am going to forget again.  My mind is weak…!  Please, send them away, I do not want to hurt them.”

She told him, “They are here with you, now.  You will not forget them.  They are here to take you back where you are needed.”

He was holding his head in his hands, his jaw tense and shivering.  His eyes - his whole, his empty left - were wide with fear at himself, at the ease with which he had just - _discarded_ them.  It would happen again.  It would happen again.

“Bull,” he heard, then, “Amatus.”

Dorian had put down his staff.  He had both hands held up, reaching for his face.  He looked awful - he looked like he was in such pain - and this was Bull’s fault.  He had done this to his heart.

“It’s all right.  You would never hurt me.”  Dorian’s hands were on his hands.  “I trust you.”

“Dorian, please, no, take our girls and leave me…” Bull mumbled.  “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“I am not going _anywhere,”_ Dorian said.  “I’m here.  You won’t hurt me.”

Dorian’s hands were warm, their size familiar.  Bull closed his eyes and let their shape settle in his memory, pulling back all he could find, all he could salvage, and desperately hoping that it would stay.

“You don’t have much time,” the Tamassran said.  “The Sten will come looking for us if I’m not back soon.”

“The - caravan’s ready, Dorian, we just need to get the girls and the Chief…”  Krem’s voice trailed off, as if suddenly self-conscious.

“Bull,” Dorian said, pulling his hands down, and Bull looked down and into his eyes.

All these years, all this pain, and there was still love in Dorian’s expression.

“I’m taking you home,” Dorian said.

Bull closed his eyes again, agonizingly aware of his body and its weaknesses.  “Kadan…” he said.

“We’ve got you, Tama, let’s go.”  Ursula held onto his right arm.  “I’ve got you.”

And Bull let them take him, listening to them as they murmured their thanks to his Tamassran, and he held to his memories of the ones he loved, half-terrified to sleep, for fear that he would not know them in the morning.

(Holding, too, to the bile-hot hate he’d felt at the sight of Dorian, the hatred born of protection and prejudice and ignorance.)

(He had honestly wanted to hurt the man he loved.)

(For a moment, if he’d had the strength, and the time, he would have…)

(He had never before hated himself so much.)

\--

The Tamassran returned to the camp gasping, the knots of her grey hair undone and falling into her face.

She called to the Sten, “The Imekari have disappeared.”

One Sten replied, “What?”

She told them, “Tal-Vashoth came upon me and the one to be transported, and the Imekari.”

Another Sten asked, “Did they harm you, Tamassran?”

She replied, “No.  I suspect they were looking for the Imekari, for they captured them both, along with the prisoner, and left shortly thereafter.”

The first Sten asked, “Would it be worth pursuing them?”

The Tamassran shook her head.  She said, in a soft voice, “No.  They got away.  They got away.”


	10. Salus Populi Suprema Lex Esto

The journey to Kirkwall from the compound was blessedly short.  They were traveling south, over land, and were at the northern reaches of the city within four days.

Varric had been anticipating their arrival, and had an outfit of guards ready and waiting to receive them when they finally came.  Being friends with the Viscount of Kirkwall had its benefits, and those benefits included an unbothered welcome that disregarded all customs procedures, and damn fine lodging afterwards.  All of these were sorely needed by everyone involved, but especially Bull and Dorian.

Having Bull returned to him - physically with him, near him, able to be held and spoken to - did not make Dorian feel any better.  Not with the state that Bull was in.

The Ben-Hassrath had only kept him for a few months, but they had aged him by years in the process.  His body was no longer warm, indulgent curves, but withered skin over muscles that struggled to remember their shape.  There were bruise-colored hollows in his face, and scars - so many scars - that Dorian could not remember.

And then, there were the scars that Dorian could not see, physical and mental.  Bull tensed at the slightest touch, the quietest address, and kept himself distant in all aspects whenever possible.  He’d slept most of the way over to Kirkwall, and in the house Varric had prepared for them he kept similarly to his bed.

Something in Dorian did not want to share the bed with him.  He could not define the discomfort - it was not fear, it was absolutely not fear - something more akin to feeling, or knowing, that this was what Bull wanted, this distance.

What kept Dorian near him, however, was the absolute certainty that this was not what Bull _needed_.

They’d been together long enough that Dorian knew, intimately, the flow of exchanges and wants and needs that he shared with Bull.  Bull had carried the transactions alone, at first, almost giving Dorian the impression that he could read minds, but that lasted only a few years.  Dorian’s fluency in the language of need became a comparable, if quiet, thing, kept sharp in Bull’s absence by the demands and debates of the Magisterium.

Bull did not need distance.  Bull did not need to be alone with his thoughts.  Bull did not need anything resembling what he had gone through at the hands of the Ben-Hassrath.

Bull needed presence, reassurance.  Bull needed someone to be with him.  Bull needed Dorian.

So Dorian gave Bull what he needed, no matter what his blind discomfort had to say about it.

He told their girls that Bull needed to recover, had to be well enough for their energy, before they could see him.  The dulled fear in Cora’s eyes and Ursula’s brittle confidence told him how much they believed in this, but they obeyed all the same.

(They had all heard things, words that came from a half-broken mind, running for survival.)

The girls would be let in to see him later.  Dorian was available to them, certainly, but they spent a fair amount of time in Auntie Adaar’s home, with her, later with Auntie Sera, who sprinted to Kirkwall as soon as her Friends had told her what happened.

(Adaar had given Dorian a warm, metal-armed hug in receiving him.  She told him that she was there for him in any capacity, wished Bull a speedy recovery, then told Dorian that he really needed to take a bath.  Dorian happily complied with the latter.)

Dorian needed to see to the care of the man he loved.  The care of the man he’d raised his children with would follow after.

Physical needs came first.  The house came with a cook, and Dorian took food for the both of them to their room, to share together.  He made a gentle, half-playful show of holding food out for Bull to eat, at first, as if he were going to feed the man like an infant, but Bull ate on his own soon enough.

There was resistance, too, that first night in Kirkwall.  Dorian had let Bull sleep undisturbed as they traveled, huddled and half-sitting in the caravan, but he could not bear to let this continue any longer.

“You have your own bed, you should sleep there,” Bull told Dorian, his voice barely above a murmur. 

“No,” Dorian said.  “You aren’t going to hurt me.  I’m not going anywhere.”

“As you wish,” Bull said, and he laid on his back with his hands folded on his chest, as still as he could make himself, making no room for Dorian.  Dorian held to his arm regardless.

Bull did not sleep well.  Dorian suffered equivalently, unable to rest when he knew that Bull was in pain.

(Bull’s body almost felt like a stranger’s, lacking the size and softness it had once possessed.  This only made Dorian want to hold him more.)

Then, there would be the moments where Bull’s composure slipped, and the fear would take over.  When Dorian’s lapses into sleep or calmness would be interrupted by Bull hurtling into panic, gasping for air and reality, mumbling, pleading through his breaths.

Always, always asking, for Dorian to get away from him, before he was hurt, before he forgot again.

Dorian did not comply with these fevered requests.  He would touch Bull gently, establishing his presence, then he would hold his hands, pulling him into the present.

“Bull,” Dorian would say, a memorized medicine after a while.  “Bull, listen to me.  You know who I am.  What is my name?”

Bull needed truth.  He needed reassurance.  Reality.

“What is my name, amatus?” Dorian would say.

“...Dorian.  Dorian, I don’t want to hurt you, but if I forget…”

“No, no, you won’t forget.  You know my name.”  His hands would move from Bull’s hands to his face, so Bull would look at him.  “And we have two daughters, Bull.  What are their names?”

Bull’s breathing would be slowing, around this time, but his gaze would still wander feverishly.

“Our daughters, Bull.  One of them, you left with me.  What is her name?”

“...Ursula.  That’s Ursula.”

“Yes.  And our other child, Bull.”

“Cordula.  Cora.”

“There, now, that’s all of us.  You know who we are.”  Dorian’s hands would be making soothing motions, here, his thumb stroking the skin of Bull’s temple, the underside of his jaw.  “You know who we are.  You’re not going to forget.”

On the quiet nights, the good nights, Bull would settle into steady breathing, and then sleep again, with Dorian’s reassurances keeping time.

On the bad nights, there would be another flare of anxiety, one which Dorian would combat with firm words and embraces.  He was no longer in that dangerous place, Dorian would tell him.  He was safe.  He was not in danger.  He was not _a_ danger.  There was no reason why he would forget them.

Call it understanding, or instinct, but Dorian’s words were a physical echo of Bull’s faint attempts at self-recovery.  Broader, certainly, but in the same key.

(But Bull’s mind drowned in memories of Seheron, in defense mechanisms and survival.  There was no need for mental barricades, nothing to seal away and will out and reason over any more, but…)

(He had done this, he had forgotten, and this meant it could happen again.  Against rationality, It _would_ happen again.)

Yet - as much as Bull wanted to tamp down the feelings, put on enough of a face to convince Dorian that he was fine, he couldn’t.  Dorian’s words pierced too deeply, scraping away at the hurt and leaving raw the parts of him still healing.

It didn’t feel like he was, but, yes, he was healing.

The nights began to calm.  Then, the questions came.

“You’ll… you won’t go anywhere, if I forget who you are?”

This question came on an afternoon of open windows and gentle breezes.  Dorian had given Bull a bowl of peas from the kitchen, ones that still needed shelling, and it sat in Bull’s lap in their bedroom.  Something to keep his hands busy.

Dorian could hear the statement struggling to burst out of the question.

“I’m staying right here,” Dorian told him.  “No matter what happens.”

Another question, on another day: “Should the girls… even be let near me, any more?”

This was morning, now, and Dorian had brought them tea and biscuits on a neat little tray.  Dorian’s hair was washed and braided over his shoulder, and his mustache was once again in its proper state of perfection.

“There is no reason why they _shouldn’t_ be near you, once you’re well,” Dorian said, frowning.  “Why would you say that?”

Bull held his teacup with almost cupped hands, staring just past it.  “I called our daughter _Saarebas_ , Dorian.  And… the way she _looked_ at me, she was…”

And Bull trailed off, because Dorian was smiling. 

“Dorian, why are you…?”

“Bull,” he said, “you called her ‘our daughter.’”

It was remarkable, astonishing even, how the words felt so… _light_ , in that moment.  As if they did not carry the weight and meaning that they should have.  How else could they have left Bull’s mouth so easily?

“Well, Cora… she _is_ , Dorian,” Bull said, redirecting his confusion, or at least trying to.

“Yes,” Dorian said, now laughing a little, “ _yes_.  _Our_ daughter.  You’ve _never_ called her that - _either_ of them.”

(Except in that one instance, muffled with the static of distance, almost thought-misheard.)

An embarrassed little smile - the first smile since they’d been reunited - crawled guiltily over Bull’s face.  He lifted his teacup, hunching his shoulders as he went.  “They’re just words, kadan…”

“ _Just_ words.  Yes, and they’re _just_ your children, too, are they not?”

“Not _just_ mine, Dorian, yours too.”

“You are _precisely_ correct,” Dorian said.  He sounded triumphant.  “ _Our_ children.  Yours, and mine, equally.”  He exhaled, almost a laugh. “Do you have any idea how long I’ve waited to hear you _say_ that?”

“What, that… Ursula and Cora are our kids, or…?”

“ _Yes_.  You always - it was always _the_ girls or _my_ daughters, never _ours_ ,” Dorian said.  “You aren’t denying it, any more…!  You’re their _father_.”

“Well… no, I’m their... _Tama_ , Dorian,” Bull said.

(There was a brief, chalk-dry silence, a threat of a lapse.)

“I mean… last I checked, I was the one that did all the… carrying and making-them-stuff, not you,” Bull said, his weak smile curling further.  “You put your stuff in, and I… shit, is there any way of saying this that _isn’t_ awkward?”

They both began laughing, after that, laughter that didn’t seem to notice where they were or what was in the world outside their bedroom.  This was a good day.

And there continued to be good days, and bad days.

(Bad days, when the definition of My Child felt like chains and collars on his daughters, and not points of pride; when he felt ashamed for them to be connected to something as dangerous as himself.)

(Bull was healing, and this meant that he was getting better at hiding again.)

Then, the door-opening question: “Are you… angry with me, Dorian?”

This was night, a calm night, where Dorian had almost settled himself back into his old space under Bull’s arm - just almost.  “Why in the world would I be _angry_ with you, amatus?”

“What I did - giving myself up like that - and what _that_ forced our girls to do…”

“Was unfortunate but absolutely what either of us would have done in the same instance,” Dorian said, firmly, adjusting himself to look at Bull more certainly.

“...I don’t want the girls to be like me, Dorian,” Bull said.

Dorian sat up, and Bull shifted to accommodate.  “Now… why would you say that?” Dorian said.

“They went to the Qun.  Became… _spies_ , thinking it would help me,” Bull said.  His head was bowed, regret lining his face.  “And the things I taught them - taught _Cora_ \- that gave them the idea to do it, the means of doing it in the first place.  I put them in danger.”

“Now, you stop right there, with that,” Dorian said.  “What you did in no _way_ put them in danger.  They went out to help you of their own volition, and I _assure_ you I’d have put a stop to it, had I known.  But we have been cursed with terribly clever children, I’m afraid.”

Bull did not look relieved in the slightest.

“Amatus, if anything, the things you taught them allowed them to stay _out_ of danger,” Dorian said, making his voice softer.  He rested a hand on Bull’s shoulder.  “You’ve been keeping them safe as best you could.”

Bull inhaled deeply, and then again, and Dorian held more firmly to his arm, recognizing the signs.

“You’ve done _so well_ for them, amatus.  I’m not angry with you,” he told Bull, in a calm, even voice, resting his forehead against Bull’s shoulder.

“I don’t want this for them, Dorian, I don’t,” Bull said, and he inhaled again.  “They should be safe, they shouldn’t have to do these things…”

“They don’t _have_ to, Bull,” Dorian said.  “We can keep them safe.”

“We can’t, not with what I am.”

“What are you, amatus?”

(A liar, a spy, a beast capable of losing his mind.  Lower than a dangerous thing.)

“You are,” Dorian said, when Bull did not answer, “their tamassran, and their father, and the man whom I love most in this world.  None of that would ever put that in danger.”

Bull had his eyes closed, tightly.  “I don’t want to ever put them in danger.”

“I know you don’t,” Dorian told him.  “They know you don’t.”

“Dorian, I’m sorry…”

Dorian leaned in and held Bull more completely, breathing slowly for Bull to match.

“There is nothing for you to apologize for,” Dorian told him.

“I’m sorry that I did this to our family.”

“Our family is back together,” Dorian said.  “We’re all here.”

“No.  The girls don’t want to see me.”

(Bull could not blame them.)

“Oh, Bull, they _do_ ,” Dorian said.  “But you haven’t been well.”

Bull’s long exhale was his reply.

“I think it’s time you saw them,” Dorian said.  “Tomorrow morning.  We’ll have breakfast.”

“Don’t force them, if they don’t want to come.”

“They will,” Dorian said.  “They miss their Tama terribly, you know.”

There, Bull put his arms around Dorian and held him with fearful, fragile strength.  He breathed, because he could not cry.

“You’re all right,” Dorian told him.  “You’re all right.”

In this manner, they both returned to sleep, their bodies more or less resting in their old places, finding comfort in nearness and presence.

\--

Dorian had opened the curtains, letting the golden light of morning into Bull’s room.  It was nice, relaxing - which Bull had to assume was the point.  He was reclined in their bed, waiting, but not relaxing.

The door opened, and Dorian poked his head in.  “Ready for breakfast?”

“I’m hungry, yeah.”

Dorian looked over his shoulder, and opened the door wider.

Ursula was carrying a large tray laden with a teapot and various tiny cakes.  “Tama…!” she said, with hushed excitement.

“Ursula,” Bull said.  He was smiling.

“You feeling better…?”  She drew nearer, then setting the tray down on the bed.

“Much better.”

Ursula looked over her shoulder, where Dorian was waiting by the door, and Cora entered.  She held herself meekly, hesitantly.

(As Bull had expected.)

“ _Fasta vass_ , Tama, has Papa not been feeding you?” Ursula continued.  She crossed her arms and frowned.  “You’re skin and _bones_.”

“Should have seen me last week,” Bull said.

Ursula set a put-upon expression on her face that was remarkably Dorian-like.  “Well, you need to get _better_ , Tama,” she said.  “You were even _worse_ a month ago, remember.”

“I know, little bear,” Bull replied, keeping the pain out of his voice.

Hearing this, Ursula broke into a bright, unrestrained smile, and she laughed.  “Cora, c’mon!  Breakfast with Tama.”

“Hi Tama,” Cora said, quietly.  She was holding her hands at her waist.

“Hey, Cora,” Bull replied.

(Dorian’s heart ached.)

“So, we got tea and biscuits and stuff here, now,” Ursula continued, maybe a little too loudly, “an’ we got bacon and eggs and toast coming in a little later, okay?”

“Sounds great, little bear,” Bull said.

And with that, Ursula took her place beside Bull on the bed, sitting cross-legged on top of the quilt.  “Cora, come sit with me and Tama!”

“Uh, Ursula, dear, maybe you should…” Dorian began.

“No, it’s… okay, I’ll wait until the food’s here…” Cora said.  She was lingering by the door, shuffling her feet.

“You don’t have to sit here if you don’t want to, Cora,” Bull said, quietly, gently.  “I understand.”

Cora shook her head.  “Tama, I’m not… scared of you.  I know you think I am, but I’m not,” she said.  There was a quiet strength in her voice, like there was metal sewn into it.  “You weren’t well, and I know you’re still getting better, so I don’t… want to make you uncomfortable, is all…”

“Cora, it’s okay…” Ursula said, weakly.

“I don’t mind you sitting here, Cora, if that’s what you want,” Bull said.

“...is it okay if I give you a hug?” Cora said.  “I mean, I don’t want to hurt you, Tama, you’re still recovering…”

(And Dorian couldn’t help but think, in that moment - _He doesn’t want them to be like him?_)

“...yes, ime-kadan.  It’s okay to give me a hug,” Bull said.

Cora’s smile was a gentle, cool thing, compared to her sister’s, but it carried no less strength to it as she carefully got onto the bed and pressed herself against her Tama’s chest, more allowing him to hug her than anything.

“I’m glad you’re feeling better, Tama,” she said, almost whispering.  “I missed you a lot.”

“I missed you too, Tama…!”  Ursula leaned in for a hug of her own, one that cuddled and nuzzled.  “You were gone too long.  Your beard’s all grey, now!”

“Papa’s is too…” Cora said.  “And his hair.”

“I don’t know about me, but I think grey looks good on him,” Bull said, in a low, almost conspiratorial voice.  A playful voice.

(Dorian almost tossed aside the sarcasm he had readied for response, hearing the relief in Bull’s voice.  Almost.)

“Ah, so I’m becoming handsomer in my old age, am I?” Dorian said.

(He had more uniform streaks of grey in his hair than his father’s - and it had been such a while since he’d last seen his father in person, rather than in writing.  So much of it had only appeared in the past few months.)

“ _Oh,_ yeah,” Bull said.

Dorian looked upon them, his amatus and their children holding each other with love and not desperation, and all he could do was smile at them.  He was getting pretty good at this, he had to admit to himself.  Seeing the girls was exactly what Bull had needed.

\--

They let more visitors in, after that miraculous breakfast.  Adaar - and a handful of her Valo-Kas buddies, though those guys weren’t so much invited as they were tagalongs - and Sera, and Varric.

Sera’s stay in Kirkwall had been temporary - she’d only stuck around long enough for her own peace of mind, before returning to her wife back in Denerim.

“Got you lot all back together, gotta get back to mine, yeah?” she explained, in departing.

Varric was a more regular visitor, passing on news, reading letters, recounting whatever weird shit he’d seen last time he was in Lowtown.  The color was coming back to Bull’s face, and some degree of his strength, but Varric was of the opinion that he needed a bit more meat on his bones before drinks at the Hanged Man.

“You’re enough of a lightweight as it is, Tiny,” he explained, in passing.

But healing came with heavier conversations, and serious matters.  They couldn’t stay in Kirkwall forever.

“Only when you are _recovered_ , and not a day sooner,” Dorian said, whenever the subject came up.

“You’re not missed back in Tevinter?” Bull asked, on one such instance, between sips of cocoa one afternoon.

“Surely I am,” Dorian replied, “but family emergencies take precedence.  The Magisterium can be fairly understanding with such matters.”

“What kind of family emergency calls for you hauling ass all the way to the Free Marches?” Bull said, a dry smile on his face.  It faded when he saw that Dorian did not look amused.  “No, seriously, what are you going to tell people when they ask where you’ve been…?”

“That my Tal-Vashoth companion was captured by the Qun and needed to be rescued,” Dorian said.

“...Tal-Vashoth companion, huh.”

(The phrase sounded so strange, when said with pride instead of outrage.)

“Well, I can’t rightly call you my _lover_ , can I?” Dorian said, sounding a touch offended.  “That makes it sound as if you’re some piece on the side.”

“I’m more… you’re going to tell people about me, about who I am?”

Dorian breathed in through his nose, as if pulling from some reservoir of strength in his chest. 

“Well, I’m now in a position where I can get _away_ with it, so, of course I will,” he replied, with a distinct air of _why-would-you-think-otherwise?_ in his tone.  “And if anyone has anything to say about it, well… the worst they can do is try to take away my seat in the Magisterium, hm?”

Bull smiled into his cocoa, letting his expression say everything.

(And trying to clip his contingency plans into small, manageable stresses, things he would not have to think about, to take into account.)

Recovery was such a subjective thing, with definitions that could be pushed back and back, for as long as there was safety and sureness and things to avoid.

This also meant that things could be hastened, if they needed to be.

And when the letter from Maevaris arrived, they did.

She’d sent two letters.  One was for Varric, and the other was for Dorian.

“She wasn’t sure if Tiny was up for travel, just yet, so she asked for a favor,” Varric explained, when he went to talk to Dorian as his letter had advised.  “He can stay here, if you need to get back.  The girls, too, if you want.  I can make sure they stay safe.”

Dorian had his eyes closed.  “I’ll see what Bull wants.”

When he went to the bedroom, that afternoon, Bull noticed his posture - defeated - his face - tired.

(A hundred worst-case and worse-than-worst-case scenarios sprang into his consciousness.)

“What happened?” he asked Dorian, keeping his voice neutral, free of expectations.

“News from home,” Dorian said.  He sounded hoarse.  “Another Archon’s been assassinated, and the Black Divine with him.  They’re saying it’s the Qun, just like last time.”

“You need to go back to Tevinter, then,” Bull said.  This was not a question.

The muscles in Dorian’s neck were tense, drawn.  “Not without you,” Dorian said.  “Not again.”

Bull looked back at him, and he closed his eyes, and he nodded.  “Then we’re going back to Tevinter.”


	11. Vigilantibus Non Dormientibus Aequitas Subvenit

Bull and Dorian got their affairs in order, before they left Kirkwall.  There was no real other way of putting it.  This was absolutely not to say that what they were doing would lead to death, or even harm, but the way in which they carried themselves through the process certainly rang of it.

Krem had been head of the Chargers in name, for some time, but Bull still called the shots.

No longer.

“Are you… sure, Chief?” Krem said, across the table from him at the Chargers’ temporary home in Kirkwall.

“You deserve it, Krem,” Bull said.  “You’ve been running the boys practically on your own, lately.  Besides, I get the feeling I won’t be in fighting shape again any time soon.”

“You kidding?” Krem said.  “Knowing you, you’ll be _begging_ for a fight before long…”

Bull looked tired, all wrung-out and thin.  He didn’t look like himself.  Krem could not deny this.

“I have to look out for my girls and Dorian, Chief,” Bull told him.  “I think they can keep me busy for a while.”

Krem blinked a few times too many, pressing his lips together, and he wiped at an eye that was still dry.

“Aw, c’mere, you big baby,” Bull said, and he stood and held out his arms.

Krem hugged him, and he found himself dismayed at the fact that his arms could make the circumference of Bull’s chest.  So much had been taken from him.

“Just a suggestion, but if you want to rename the company Krem’s Crushers, you have my _complete_ support,” Bull said.

He must have felt Krem tensing or something.  All the same, he started laughing, just a little.  “I dunno, Bull, I was thinking something more like…”  Nothing, however, seemed suitably corny.

“Harder than you think it is, isn’t it?”

“Shut up!”

Dorian, meanwhile, was preparing papers and statements and stories. 

He sent forth letters to Maevaris, to his Minrathous estate and its staff, announcing his intended arrival in various ways.  Busy as Maevaris was, he asked that she continue hosting the girls at her house in Minrathous while he and Bull got settled and worked out how they would fit into Tevinter’s fabric together.

_This shall not be a permanent situation, just a means of keeping them near me without them getting in the way of important business._

He wrote this to her as his excuse.  He had many other options, other justifications at his disposal, of course.  Ursula was already Mae’s apprentice - not yet _formally-_ named, but any day now.  But some methods of decorum had to be observed all the same.

(And the girls had to be kept somewhere safe, safe until he could be sure.)

(Until he could believe that he had made a place for both of them.)

They all said goodbye to Kirkwall, and began on the journey back to Tevinter.

There was a sort of universally-accepted truth, with regards to the reason for the journey.  They were going home.  They were going home together. 

(Even though home was a hostile, uncertain place.)

(They were going together.)

\--

A phrase came to mind, when considering what happened next: in the right place, at the right time.

There was, of course, a little resistance met when Dorian and his family came to the border.  No, the qunari traveling with him were not slaves.

“He is my companion,” Dorian explained, firmly, “and she is my daughter.”

This was not a wretched, disgraced son of a Magister, making demands he could not pay for.  This was a Magister in his own right, a well-known and high-up member of the Lucerni party, and his family, however strange it might look, was coming with him.

Bull worried about Dorian’s career, though in quiet comments, where his place was appreciated.  Dorian was not.  Dorian, frankly, couldn’t give a damn about his career in times like this.  He needed to make it to Minrathous, and then, forward, onward.

The girls were settled, and he got to work.

The assassination of the Archon and the Divine were, of course, the subject of intense scrutiny and investigation.  It was, after all, seen as more important to know whom to blame, first.  That gave one an excellent platform for campaigning, proposing how they would deal with this threat.

Higher members of the Imperium’s government were privy to this information, naturally.  And, in some cases, their companions.

The reports scratched an itch in Bull’s mind, a passing familiarity.  He wrote to Adaar, to Leliana, to share what he knew.  To confirm what he felt.

Someone slipped.  Someone talked.  And out of chaos came a culprit, a name: Fen’Harel.

“ _Solas?_   That - _he’s_ the one responsible for this?” Dorian said, once Bull confirmed and told him.

Bull nodded a few times, sitting across from Dorian in his study.  “And the reason for the stuff at Halamshiral a few years back, too.  Yeah,” he said.

Dorian gestured inarticulately, his eyes narrowed.  “ _How?_ ”

“Long story, looks like,” Bull said.  “The Boss and I investigated into it a little, when all that crap went down at Halamshiral, but there wasn’t enough evidence to take any action.  Didn’t leave a trail.”

Dorian sighed.  “And there is now?”

“ _Oh_ yeah.”

Even the best-maintained spy networks had weaknesses, after a while.  Bull knew this, and Leliana knew this, and their patience was rewarded for it.

“So… _why?_   Why pin this on the _Qun?_ ” Dorian said.

“Your guess is as good as mine, but I’d wager it was meant to be a smokescreen,” Bull replied.  “Get his two biggest enemies fighting so nobody notices what _he’s_ doing underneath them.  Tevinter was just easier to infiltrate.”

Dorian sighed, again, a sigh of frustration laced with disdain.  “So the Archon, four years ago?”

“His work, yeah.”

“And the one this year, and the Divine?”

“His guys, too.”

Dorian ran his fingers through his silver-streaked hair.  “If I ever catch sight of that bald piece of nug-shit, I’m going to _kill_ him.”

“Hopefully it won’t have to come to that,” Bull said.  He put his hand on the desk, a gesture of support.  “We got people who know what they’re doing, now.  You included.”

“You think I know what I’m doing?”

“I _know_ it, big guy.”

Dorian’s final sigh was more of a laugh, and he rested his hand on Bull’s.  “If I only had your confidence.”

But, truthfully, there _were_ people that knew what they were doing, and Dorian _was_ involved with them.

Maevaris shone so brightly in this position that she practically _blinded_.

“It is a clear and unavoidable truth that what we face now is a common enemy,” she would be quoted as saying, later.  “One that knows and respects no borders, identities, or causes but its own.  Our alliances, now, must follow suit.”

She proposed talks of mutual armistice with the southern and northern nations, in the name of united vigilance against the forces of Fen’Harel.  The Inquisition, in years past, had shown how such things could work.  They could do it better, now.

She was called anti-patriotic, a lunatic, and all manner of things completely unrelated to her station.

And, eventually, she was named Archon of Tevinter. 

(She’d spent a long time carefully building up support, and this was, finally, the keystone.)

The appointment of the new Divine of the Tevinter Chantry was similarly unconventional.  For the first time in its history, a woman was the Black Divine. 

She had been born Calpernia, but she was now Novus.

(Well, _Nova_ would have been more fitting, but some traditions couldn’t be talked out-of.  So, the male form it was.)

Her rise to Tevinter’s Sunburst Throne was the result of a very long, very careful campaign of influence and secrecy, shifting opinions amongst the clergy and the Big People as one would shift the course of a river.  Frustration and dissatisfaction with inaction made for an easy way in.  So when the time came for an election, the Chantry went with the woman that was getting the most work done.

In addition to that, Divine Novus had the public support of Divine Victoria.  _More_ than a mere acknowledgment.  The threat they faced was one that, for the time being, overshadowed differences of interpretation and scripture.  The only way out of it was mutual cooperation.

(Well, that, and Calpernia and Leliana had become good friends, in the wake of Corypheus’s fall.  And they were both excellent at keeping up appearances for a needed purpose.)

There was, of course, vocal outrage, duels in the streets, a resurgence of toxic nationalism, et cetera et cetera.  But things were getting done.

Through some inexplicable connections and means, the Triumvirate sent a letter to the new Archon proposing a ceasefire, now that the extent of Fen’Harel’s involvement in things was known.  They’d denied the assassinations carried out by his agents, of course, but there was reason and evidence to believe them, now.

Maevaris wrote back with an enthusiastic plan of armistice in Seheron to better focus their forces inward.  Neither party intended to withdraw, of course, but Maevaris did not intend on sending any fresh troops over, with what they were up against.  The Triumvirate answered, curtly, and simply, “Agreed.”

Times, as they were wont to do, were changing.

Dorian had been bringing Bull to Sessions with him in the Magisterium, claiming his companion was a bodyguard.  The responses he received were hostile, on average, but began quickly to fade off the longer Bull was there.  Part of it was people getting used to Bull, he supposed, but there was also the fact that the shit-stirrers that made a point of being openly outraged at his presence were more often than not told to shut up, after a while.  Oxmen were hideous distractions, yes, but was an open Session really the time or the place to say so?  At least save it for a _dinner party_ or something, like a _civilized_ person.

By the time of the ceasefire, especially considering Bull’s lack of scandalous achievements, he was just another oddment, an attachment to Magister Pavus.  Like his daughters, the second of which was only-just being introduced to society.  One had to suppose that keeping her hidden was understandable, what with her race and all.

(It was gossiped, and theorized, and then just assumed that the girl was the offspring of his qunari companion, given the horns and resemblance.  Dorian calling her his daughter was surely a term of affection, nothing more.)

(Of course, Ursula was the subject of her own rumors, related rumors, but she’d been seen and known at her father’s side for years, and was making her way as Maevaris’s apprentice, now.  Any less-than-human traits she possessed were oft-overlooked.)

The war, or the conflict, turned inward and simmered, quietly.  The new Archon conducted her Magisters and her constituents like the leader of a loud and unwieldy orchestra, somehow making it work.   Would-be Venatori would flare and rupture with action like so many pustules, usually dispatched shortly after rising.

And Dorian found himself having _order_ in his life again.  Sessions where his presence was absolutely necessary were becoming scarcer and scarcer, with Maevaris and the rest of the Lucerni fast-becoming the ruling majority.  He found himself, for the first time in years, with _honest_ free time on his hands.  Not avoidance, not cowardice, just the glorious privilege of having all his affairs, even for a short time, in order.

He took the villa on the Nevarran border for himself.  The girls had bedrooms set up, there, and he had another bed built for him and Bull, bigger than the one they shared in Minrathous. 

They would spend weeks at a time there, in the spring, in the summer, when it was not too cool for comfort.  Weeks without worry, or fear that the world would find and punish them for inaction.

Dorian had made a place in the world for his family.  Short of fathering his children, creating a family in the first place, he knew that nothing would have ever made him prouder.

(But, as always, he was willing to be proven wrong.  History had taught him to expect nothing less.)

\--

Cora had a strange dream, some nights into her family’s first real holiday at the villa.

Being near Ursula, physically, she no longer needed to devote her dreams to talking, so she had returned to wandering the Fade on her own.  Not always alone, of course, as there were always spirits and guides for her to consult.

Still, no matter how human or physical a spirit appeared, she could always tell _what_ they were.  An aura of color, or emotion around them, that she felt underneath it all, usually.  Cole, for instance, had a cool whiteness beneath him, calming, like milk.  She would know this anywhere.

The man in this dream was not a spirit.  He looked to be an elf, cloaked and comfortably-dressed in furs.  He was watching her, from a distance, but she knew he was there.

This, eventually, went on too long for her comfort.  “Hello!” she called out.  “I think we’re sharing a dream!”

The elf, from the perch where he was observing her, shifted his head in a faintly judgmental manner.

“Would you like to walk with me?  It might be more pleasant,” Cora continued.

An instant, and an instant later, he was in front of her.  They were about the same height, but he carried himself as if he were much, much taller, looking down at her with her chin raised.

“My name’s Cordula,” she said.  “What’s your name?”

He didn’t answer.

“It’s okay if you don’t want to tell me,” Cora said.  “It _is_ kind of weird to meet other people in your dreams, I guess.”

“Curious,” the elf said.

“What’s curious?”

“You.  I can’t decide, exactly, what to make of you,” he said.

“Have you… never met another dreamer in the Fade, or…?”  Certainly, it was a rarity for Cora, and even rarer for them to interact with her as readily as a spirit would.

But the elf shook his head.  “I find it hard to think of any other child with your ancestry,” he said.  “By every right, you shouldn’t even be.”

There was an odd cadence to his voice, odd and familiar.  Cole sometimes spoke like that, and spirits, too.

“What part of my existence seems to give you so much trouble?” she said, not so much speaking the words as letting them use her body as a medium.  “I’m only who I am, and know no further.”

One of the elf’s eyebrows rose, at this.  He shook his head.  “I thought qunari incapable of such grace.”

Cora frowned.  When she was younger, things like this were just “weird stuff.”  Time with Tama had properly labeled them “ignorant assholes,” and that was putting it nicely.

“You must not know many qunari,” Cora said, smiling, as aggressively graceful as she could manage.

“I have known many in my time,” the elf said, “but, true, none with your background, exactly.”

“How do you know my background, exactly?”

“I have observed, from a distance, as I observe many things,” the elf said.  “The circumstances of your birth are far from ordinary.”

 _Creepy…!_ Still, Cora asked,  “How do you mean?”

“Against all nature, a Tevinter Magister _willingly_ coupling with a Qunari spy?” the elf said.  “Unheard-of.  And, yet, you exist.”

“Uh… yeah.  I do,” Cora replied.  Her face felt all screwed-up, like something gross was in the air.  “I know that the Imperium and the Qun aren’t exactly allies, but my Tama and my Papa were never really a part of that.”

“If you say so,” the elf said.

Cora’s eyebrows lowered.  “How would you know differently?”

“I knew them, in another time, as comrades, friends, or allies,” the elf said.  “Though I doubt they speak my name with any kindness.”

“What, you mean… my parents?” Cora said.  The elf nodded, and she frowned.  “You must not have been very good friends, then.”

“I suppose you are correct,” the elf replied.  “They were, to me, more allies of convenience.”

“Yeah… you _really_ weren’t good friends, then, huh?” Cora said, crossing her arms.  “If I’ve never heard of you, but… also, because you’re talking about them like that.”

“Regardless,” the elf said, his mouth drawn in what seemed to be distaste, “this does not change the facts in this matter.  You are, by definition, an anomaly.  An outlier, and not an indication of true change.”

Cora’s head was aching a little, but more out of frustration than anything.  Was this elf talking to her or to himself, now?  “Change?”

“The peace between your graceless peoples will not last,” the elf said.  “It will be but a flicker in the map of history.  I stand, remain, unchanged in my convictions.”

Cora shrugged.  “Alliances and people change - that’s history, I guess, but I think everybody wants a peaceful future,” she said.  She sighed, and closed her eyes, letting the flow pass through her further.  “I don’t know what you think I am, but what you say about me feels like you’re just… seeing what you want to see, here.”

The elf was silent, for a moment.  Then, he shook his head.  “I came expecting nothing, and I leave in disappointment,” he said.  “There will be no others like you, little dreamer.  Do not think your existence will change anything.”

“I’m just one person,” Cora replied, shrugging again.  “What could I change?”

“Enough,” the elf said.

And, there, she woke, remembering the conversation as if it had happened weeks in the past. 

(“It was a valiant effort, my friend, but showing me the girl did not change anything.”)

She kept it to herself, following, not asking any immediate questions.

(Cole could feel the hidden hurt, denial, like a clotted vein.)

The elf had not given her a name, anyways, so how would she have asked her parents who he was?

(“She can,” Cole told him.  “She has her sister, too.”)

Thinking back on him, Cora found herself filled with equal parts confusion and pity.

(His friend left him, then, giving no indication that he’d listened.)

Whoever he was, he sounded like he was struggling.

She wished she could help.

(She could.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And, with that -- The End! 
> 
> I might write some fluffy one-shots about Bull and Dorian in retirement, the girls growing up, Bull and Dorian having another kid (and grandkids??) but those won't have any sort of plot, like this one. I'll sort of put them out as they come to me.
> 
> Many thanks to valbino, amatuskadan, and coveredinfeels for being very patient and understanding as I bounced ideas off them about how to put this all together, and for being wonderful enablers of pain and waff.
> 
> And INCREDIBLE thanks to each and every one of you that read the fic and left a kudos or a comment or a tweet or - heck, just even read it! This has been a really nifty last few months, and I never thought it would go so far nor be received so well! (Adoribull mpreg?? I thought I'd be booed off the face of the fandom, honestly!)
> 
> I look forward to entertaining you all in the future. And thanks again!
> 
> \- Syd


End file.
